Empire
by Emerald Dragon Rider
Summary: A new rider will soon be revealed in a surprising twist to the story. She will be untrusted by everyone in Alagaesia, but has great promise, despite crippling setbacks. Set as the 3rd book of the inheritance series. New characters and continuing plotline.
1. Introduction

Empire

Summary: A new rider will soon be revealed in a surprising twist to the story. She will be untrusted by everyone in Alagaesia, but has great promise, despite crippling setbacks. Set as the 3rd book of the inheritance series. New characters and continuing plotline.

Action/adventure, fantasy

Introduction:

The moonlight cast eerie shadows upon the uneven ground as the hooves of a horse pounded relentlessly at a breakneck pace. Trees surrounded the cloaked figure who rode astride the steed, cutting in amongst the foliage and ducking beneath low-lying branches that threatened to dismount the rider. Dead leaves crackled beneath the flurry of hooves, the horse panting from exertion. A sheath shone in the dark, empty of its sword which the rider held upon their lap as they rode. The rider chanced a glance behind them swiftly before turning around again and urging the poor animal to pick up the pace as their cloak billowed out behind with a gust of wind.

The silence of the night was broken as a small army of twelve men on strong chargers raced behind. Their armor gleamed; their swords at the ready. Quivers of arrows and a bow each were slung across their backs. The black horses beneath them were exhilarated by the pursuit and raced forward with eagerness. Their shields bore the black symbol of Galbatorix, the king of Alagaesia. With a terse word, one of the soldiers instructed his men to spread out amongst the trees. Their powerful horses were swiftly gaining on the fugitive.

With every passing second, the gap was closing and the runaway was clearly in view. No arrows were shot, though each soldier was more than capable of catching the rider at this distance. When it was all-too-obvious that they were surrounded, the first rider reined in their horse. The mount reared slightly and stopped, wheeling around to face their pursuers. The hood dropped and long golden-brown locks of hair fell to frame the face of a girl of about sixteen, her jade green eyes cold and knowing, devoid of fear. She knew she was caught, but she would not go willingly.

"You truly have a death wish, girl. The king will not be pleased," sneered the leader of the pack.

"The _king,_" she mocked, "is never pleased. The only pleasure he gets is from the cold-blooded murder he commits upon this land with a merciless hand and a monster at his side."

"Have you no shame? You won't get out of this unscathed," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I am already pained to be living within this cruel empire. Whatever more you cause will be of no consequence to me."

"You speak with a bold tongue. But can you fight as well as you speak?" The girl held her horse fast, the animal balked at the swords. She raised her own sword in front of herself, staring down the competition. Kicking her steed, they charged towards the man with a fury unseen before. She brought her broadsword down upon the man's shoulder, only to be blocked by his own weapon with deadening force. She twisted her own around to slice him in the side but the sword slipped down his armor harmlessly. He took the advantage and brought his own towards her head, which she ducked. The girl veered her horse around and blocked a blow from another solider to her right side with swift ease, taking his head.

Another of the king's men attacked from the left, and she stabbed him through the stomach. She took the inscrutable pause to quickly take the bow from her back and shoot two arrows at once to claim several more lives. Another soldier took this opportunity to slice her arm before she got the chance to block his blow. She hardly noticed as the crimson blood began swiftly pouring from the wound. As the fight continued, her blows came more slowly and she was unable to block many of the assaults. She knew she was overwhelmed. A true and efficient fighter, but it took more to take twelve soldiers at once. Suddenly, her horse reared wildly and fell on its side. Her right leg cracked numerous times underneath the immense weight, the pain blurred her vision and made the remaining soldiers swim before her eyes. The horse rolled to its feet quickly and was able to escape, leaving the girl completely vulnerable. She tried to get to her feet, but an incredible amount of pain shot through her leg and she collapsed in the dirt. The men sheathed their swords, knowing they would now be unnecessary.

"So the mighty fighter isn't so gifted after all, now is she?" taunted the leader.

"You now have…half as many men…as you set out with. You…do the math." She managed to say between gasps of tormenting pain. A malicious grin crossed the soldier's face as he harshly kicked her in the head for the comment. Pain exploded within her skull before everything went blissfully black.


	2. Aftermath

**Chapter 1-Aftermath**

The clouds obscured the morning sky over the Burning Plains and the battle that had wracked through the desolate terrain. For miles, there was nothing but wasteland, now drowned in blood, bodies, broken or forgotten weapons and the never-vanishing smell of death and decay. Nasuada had ordered the Varden's troops to recede off the battlefield for the blood soaked through the hems of the tents. It was impossible to escape the stench of decomposing flesh and the unremitting smoke and vindictive haze that filled the air as if the sun had been the one to lose the battle and never had bathed the ground with its rays.

A few figures wound their way through the carnage, stepping lightly around corpses and checking, every now and then, the pulse of one of the bodies. The disappointing search for survivors would last many days after the final blow was struck. Smoke rose from small mounds throughout the plains that only added to the despair of those who lived.

Still slightly battle weary and with newfound knowledge of his own hideous bloodlines, the Varden's rider offered whatever he could to his dying companions. Those men he found who had survived the massacre were few, and most had no chance of living to see the new day, gruesome as it may be. A worn and white-scarred battle axe sprouted from the body of a dead soldier, gleaming with blood and entrails. The reflection of the weapon shone distortedly upon the still polished shield that lay next to the scene—a testament to the Empire's defeat. Not ten feet away, a sword rode solemnly from the chest of a fallen dwarf. It was times such as these that even the victorious found it difficult to comprehend the meaning of such tragedies.

Crouching to feel the neck of another ally and feeling no familiar rhythm, Eragon stared sorrowfully at the battle-scored earth.

_Hrothgar's death will not help our case with the dwarves, _Eragon said glumly. _That might have been the worst thing that happened. It was not the way for a fighter to die._

_No, but perhaps now Orik will have the opportunity he should have had long ago. I see no better king than he himself. He knows what's right and what's wrong and he has a good heart. He can lead the dwarves further than ever before, _Saphira said reassuringly.

He had not thought of Orik as Hrothgar's successor, but perhaps it was meant to be. _I expect the funeral will be held tomorrow before the dwarves make their way back to Farthen Dûr so his journey may be completed. _He shooed a crow away from a nearby body.

_We will be expected to speak on behalf of Hrothgar and the __Dûrgrimst Ingeitum at the service. We can prepare a speech tonight, _she said. He nodded in acknowledgement.

_After the funeral, we must travel to Helgrind to save Roran's fiancé, _Eragon stated.

The great blue dragon, who had been watching her rider and lending her strength through him for the weakened, now gazed at his back as he crouched dejectedly near another body. _I know what tolls yesterday must have had upon you, Eragon. Will you be strong enough for this mission? _Saphira asked softly.

_Aye, Saphira. I will always be strong enough with you beside me. _

_Together, we are a force to be reckoned with, no matter the outcome of the fight. We may have lost a battle with Murtagh, but we will win the war._

Her words gave him confidence. _We will face the Ra'zac together and prevail with my newfound abilities. Roran will have his wedding within the month._

Saphira hummed her agreement.

_We need to reconvene with Nasuada to tell her of our plans _he said, straightening up. _Elva will need to be attended to as well. We have many promises to keep._

After healing the gash in her tail, they set off towards her tent. He found Roran's mind and requested entry. Hesitantly, access was granted.

_It is only I, brother. Meet Saphira and I at Nasuda's tent. We must tell her of our mission to rescue your betrothed. _

_I will be there shortly Eragon. _Roran replied.

Eragon entered the large tent to find Roran already there, sitting at the table with Nasuada, Orrin and Arya.

"My Lady," Eragon greeted Nasuada. "Were you able to get some sleep last night?"

"Yes Eragon, thank you. Now I doubt you could not have been able to decide on whether you might be able to defeat Murtagh without meeting with the elves during the night. What is it you would like to talk with us about?" Nasuada asked.

Eragon paused. "I realize Saphira and I have made a lot of promises that need to be fulfilled, but there is one I must carry out now."

"And what is this promise you have made, Eragon?" she asked calmly.

"In order to answer that, I believe now is the time you should hear Roran's full story."

She turned and acknowledged his cousin. "Roran, I would be happy to hear your journey from the beginning."

So Roran recited his tale once again, making sure that he stressed the importance of the situation and how dire it truly was to him. Katrina needed him and she needed to be rescued as soon as possible, not after more troubles were taken care of. He completed his story and sat, waiting expectantly for her reaction and the answer to his pleading question.

Nasuada looked impressed. "It's clear that you and Eragon are related. The same determined and driven blood runs through your veins." Eragon winced at the mention of his family ties.

"So you see why the need is so great that we travel as soon as Hrothgar's funeral is complete," Roran continued anxiously, knowing she had not answered his question yet. "Katrina is in immediate danger and needs to be attended to now."

"Yes Roran, you, Eragon and Saphira may complete this task for we have no immediate need for you after the procession. But I must stress that you take precautions and as few risks as possible. When the time comes that I contact you for your assistance again, I expect you all to be in one piece," she stated. Her words were never orders but instead were full of love and understanding for their situation.

"Once again, I am in your debt, Lady Nasuada." Roran bowed low.

"Eragon, you do realize that the dwarves will be anticipating a few words from you and Saphira tomorrow?"

"Aye Nasuada. We shall work on it tonight."

"Alright, it's settled then. Everyone who is well enough is to be present tomorrow when the sun hits midday. We will honor the tragic death of Hrothgar as one of our own. Wear your best attire." Nasuada announced. "Spread the word to anyone you meet today."

_We will,_ Saphira said. Then with a short bow, they left.

"Saphira and I have one more matter to attend to today," Eragon addressed Roran.

"I'll begin packing," Roran said. His demeanor was less morose and there was a sparkle of hope in his eyes. When he left them he walked more upright and Eragon realized just how much Katrina really meant to him.

_Shall we face the witch? _He asked Saphira, grinning.

_Eragon! _she replied, _this matter is serious. Elva must be out of control at this point trying to save all the lives she feels are slowly dwindling away or have been lost. Let us lift the curse._

_Simply trying to lift our spirits in all this misery _he said guiltily.

_No harm done. Lead the way little one, _she replied.

They walked through the rows of tents until they spotted the one that seemed a bit out-of-place among the others. A large cauldron still simmered in front of the tent but the donkey was gone.

_So this is it. Has a human ever even tried to reverse words said in the ancient language before?_

_I do not know. You have accomplished much for one as young as yourself Eragon. Do not limit the possibilities of your strength for it runs deeper than you realize. I will be right here if you need me._

Confident again, he ducked into the tent. Saphira stuck her head and neck through the flap. The inside was crammed with odd assortments of plants and various items that only made sense to Angela. Solembum the werecat sat purring contently on top of an empty plant base lined with runes and inscriptions. Elva sat on a small stool watching Angela, who stood at a narrow table dicing an off-color vegetable.

_Greetings rider. Good evening Saphira, _Solembum said as they entered.

"I knew you were coming," Elva announced in her eerie adult voice, "I could feel your unease. It is with the magic you are to perform upon me that you are uncertain."

Before he could say anymore on the matter, Angela cut in harshly.

"Now we're feeling insecure about our proficiency in magic all of a sudden? Sort of convenient wouldn't you think?" She waved the knife she had been using pointedly at him. "At the exact point in time you must fulfill your duty to heal the child you have doomed to an appalling existence not fit for the enemy you begin to feel the pressures of having responsibility like everyone else in the world and call it uncertainty! Didn't I tell you what I would do if you were to do something like this?"

Eragon clasped his hands behind his back and decided to humor her. "No Angela, what will you do to me?"

"I didn't tell you? Oh, well, I will first make sure that your life becomes ten times as worse as this poor innocent child's and you will feel the pain of a hundred lifetimes. You will—"

"Angela," he interrupted. "Do not tire yourself. I am here to mend my mistake and that is exactly what I intend to do. _Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal._"

She stared at him for a moment, scrutinizing his words as if making sure he wasn't lying. Finally calm again, she stepped back and allowed Elva to approach him.

"This is what you truly want? I do not know how it will affect you once the spell has been lifted," he told her honestly.

"Aye rider, I have had enough pain for many a lifetime," she replied.

_Saphira, I will need your strength._

_I am here._

The burning plains contained no plants or animals with which to aid him so every fiber of his strength would be connected in order to complete the complex spell. He placed his gedwëy ignasia upon her forehead and closed his eyes, focusing on the words.

_Atra reísa du marthe sem __malthinae__ ono, _Let the curse that binds you be lifted.

He could feel Saphira's immeasurable strength flowing through their bond but his own left him at an alarming rate. He realized he could no longer feel the warmth from the child's skin as his mind grew slowly cloudy and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Disclaimer: I made up the word for "curse" but other than that, the spell Eragon uses to lift Elva's curse is all the ancient language created by Christopher Paolini.


	3. Captured

**Chapter 2-Captured**

It was the dull, throbbing pain in her head that woke her at first. Then, as she regained consciousness and memory, she understood exactly where she was. The dark, cold feeling the enveloped her was only welcoming in the sense that she knew she was alone. The company that presented itself within the castle was the last thing she wanted, but was inevitable. Moans of pain echoed from someone nearby, though the surrounding cells were empty. The familiar musty smell and dripping water she recognized—the dungeons of the castle. The hard, biting steel on her wrists and ankles she did not.

_He's afraid I might escape again…_she realized.

Testing her surroundings, she yanked experimentally on the restraints. Feeling some slack, she placed her hands on the wall behind her and braced her legs underneath, attempting to stand. She immediately was dazed with the sudden pain that shot through her right leg, bringing the fight back to her mind as if it had happened only minutes before. Slumping back to the filth-caked floor and gritting her teeth together to lessen the pain, she waited until it dulled to the same throbbing as her head. She ran an exasperated hand through her hair to find it hard and brittle with dried blood and a large lump on one side. Her dirt-caked face bore many small cuts and bruises, consistent with the rest of her body. A large slash ran across her upper arm and her tunic had attached itself to the wound. She harshly ripped at the fabric and tore it loose, feeling fresh blood run down her arm. Roughly grasping the sleeve of her other arm, she ripped a strip off of the bottom and using her teeth, tied it tightly around the wound.

Only once this task had been sufficiently completed did she take the time to grasp her situation. Her right leg lay at an odd angle, and she was careful in pulling the pant leg up to examine her grievous wound. The entire limb was swollen and bruised. Old scars couldn't compare to the significant protrusions under the skin that could only be bone. Too disgusted to look any longer, she gently pulled the cloth back over the sight, deciding to worry about it later. Her high pain tolerance allowed her to ignore the ache for a time.

_How long have I been here?_ she wondered. The only light came from the mounted torch on the wall to the right of her cell. Judging from the light scabbing on her wounds, she guessed it had only been a few hours.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of heavy footsteps and jangling keys. A guard appeared in front of her cell, smug smile across his face.

"Thought you got away, didn't ya?" he asked, taunting the captive.

"This is only the beginning," she assured him. "I have slain soldiers with more prowess than yourself and I won't hesitate to stoop to your level."

The guard seemed unphased. He was accustomed to receiving death threats by the hour. "And how do you figure to do that when your _stolen _weapons are locked up in one of the most secure rooms in the entire castle?"

"Sometimes all one needs are their bare hands and a motive," she answered darkly. "Mine is freedom from this wretched place you call home."

"From where I'm standin'," the guard retorted with a snort of laughter, "you're in no position to make threats. What's keepin' me from leaving you to die down here, never to see another day?"

"You tremble before the wrath of the king. He would have your head for such actions. You are not as important as you believe yourself to be, O Guard of the Dungeons," she sneered.

"You have no idea what this position demands of those who are called upon to serve it under the king," he claimed proudly, clearly now on the defense.

"But of course. The keeper of the keys is a job for only the most competent of men. It must've taken all of your superior intelligence to find the key to my cell."

The smirk faded from his face, replaced with sheer malice.

"You little rat! I oughta-"

Before she could say he should go find a nice cell to lock himself in, another guard appeared and took the keyring from the other.

"Get a hold of yourself, Teron, none of the other prisoners get to you this way!" The one took Teron by the shoulders to calm him. She wondered who else was rotting away their days in the dungeons.

"Yeah Teron, don't get so emotional," she taunted, looking for a fight. Besides, this clash of wits kept her focus off of the pain that was so willing to envelop her.

"You would be wise to suppress your own anger, girl. You are to be presented before the king and such conduct is asking for death itself."

"If the king wanted me dead, I would already be in my grave. I know why no arrows caught me last night in my escape," she stared him straight in the eye. The king wanted her alive for a reason, one that she knew only a select few were aware of within the empire. When he didn't get what his dark mind desired, he would use force that no one could dream to reckon with. His power came from centuries old experience and wisdom which had corrupted his very soul along with his dragon, Shruikan. To defy the king was a deadly game, but she knew better. She knew from the past the cunning, deceitful ways of the most powerful man in Alagaesia.

The guard ignored her comment and jammed one of the keys into the lock of her cell, turning it sharply. The door protested against his efforts to pull it back, obviously in need of some repair. Dust flew up from his footsteps as he entered the cell, walking towards the captive with a measured, precise pace. Using a smaller key, he undid the padlocks on the four chains that held her close to the wall. The cuffs clanged to the floor with an eerie echo.

"Stand up," he commanded, as if she were a soldier at attention.

"If I was able to stand, don't you think I would've done it sooner?" she asked sarcastically. With a frustrated grumble, he roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Lights danced in front of her eyes from the dizziness that exploded from her head, but she would not admit the weakness. Her dry, bloodstained clothes clung to her like rags, sliced by sword blades from the fight. Each limping step was agonizingly painful, her leg only supporting her weight by sheer willpower. She realized that she may never be able to walk normally again.

The guard led her to the doorway of the cell where Teron stood, all too happy to see her pain. She hissed when he grabbed her other arm around the slash, but he ignored it. Together, the guards marched her down the forgotten aisle of cells to the winding stairway at the end where lonely torches spilled wavering light along the ascending wall. The stairs were trickier and she ended up being half dragged when she could not keep pace with the guards. The journey to the king's chamber seemed like hours, miles of untamed pain that would never end. She came to hate the guards even more than before for forcing such a feat mere hours after the battle.

The pain she felt was temporarily forgotten when they reached the second level of cells. The moaning she heard earlier now rang in her heart as well as her ears. All she felt now was numb. Each cell was filled with half-starved prisoners, staring forlornly from black holes of eyes. While most of them were older men, in some of the cells she saw women and even children. A back turned toward the door revealed the horrific representation of a blistered tree, the result of years of previous whippings. In other cases, the prisoners could be seen knocking their heads against a wall, writhing on the floor in agony and starvation, one even laughed in his madness when he saw the guards.

"Help us," came the sound of a soft but desperate voice. "Help my child, he's dying, he needs food…" A woman's hand stuck through the iron bars of a cell where she sat, her other wrapped protectively around a sickly-looking young boy. Both were close to death. Her face was aged from the stress of such mistreatment, though one could see from her hands she was still quite young. The girl reached her heart and hand to the woman, softly touching her fingertips, knowing there was nothing she could do for any of the doomed innocent people. Quickly she was rushed by the horrific scene by the guards, who composed themselves so only their eyes shown with pity for those around them. Even these people of the empire knew such cruelty was wrong.

Finally, the impressive, high wooden double doors came into view. Two lines of heavily armored guards adorned the walls like decorative statues, stock still with orders to let the three to enter. With her remaining strength, she pushed back the thoughts of slavery, managed her best hobble and raised her head high, hiding the pain behind an emotionless mask as they entered—she would not appear weak in front of the king; she would not let him win. The doors swung open without physical force, the ominous boom and the dragging of her foot the only sounds that graced the grand room. Lit every few steps by torchlight, the ceiling as high as a cathedral and cloaked in shadows, the room reeked of power as the guards marched to the middle of the room to face the king.

"Your majesty, the prisoner as you requested," the guard on her right announced with all the authority he dared. She could feel Teron's hand shaking slightly, and smirked slightly to herself. Upon the black throne on the stone wall opposite them sat the man who held the highest and most unmerited position in Alagaesia. Wrapped in robes of black and red reminiscent of the blood from the thousands of lives he had taken, his bald head shone with the light that seemed small and insignificant in his hold of darkness.

A voice drifted across the stone room, reeking of cruelty and unjust, feral power. "Then you are dismissed. Dath, Teron, return to your posts." The voice sounded as though it belonged to a snake. To anyone else, it would have raised the very hairs on the back of their neck, but she was different.

The guards released their captive, who stood lightly on one leg, challenging the king with a stone-cold stare. Her own malice shone brightly in her eyes, the knowledge of being within the king's grasp infuriating.

"You would not be in such a state had you not defied me," Galbatorix stated coldly.

"Then why not simply kill me and get it over with?" she asked as if it were the most simple thing in the world to stand up to the king renowned for his cruelty.

"I think you already know the answer to that," he said smoothly. "However if you choose to make that decision again, you will not return so lucky."

"As fortunate as you believe me to be, I will no longer be your most vital asset. Your soldiers have permanently crippled your most capable warrior in the empire," she said, pulling away the cloak to reveal the leg she held off the floor in a bent, painful position for none was comfortable.

"Approach me," he ordered.

For no reason other than to be out of the room as quickly as possible, she obliged, feeling oddly satisfied despite the pain that wracked through her with every step. The limp was so pronounced that she had difficulty walking without the previous support of the guards. As she approached, she could see the great black form of Shruikan take shape in the shadows behind the king, his glowing red eyes locked onto her. His bulk filled the back of the great hall completely, as if it were built around him. The tip of his tail curled around the throne almost protectively. She could feel his eyes boring into her and the large hot gusts of breath envelop her.

The rage became all too apparent in the king's features. For years, he had trained her personally to create a secret weapon, more skilled in sword fighting, archery and hand-to-hand combat than even his finest and most prestigious soldiers. If she resisted his efforts, he would take her torture into his own hands, using whip, flame, starvation or magic to accomplish what he desired from her. In order to keep her in the best shape possible, she was regularly healed by the magic users before training sessions with the king or the infamous red rider. However, the relief from the pain was so temporary that even magic couldn't free her of the multitudes of scars that covered her lithe and still strong body. The only way she obeyed lay purely in survival.

Magic was the only fighting art he refused to teach her, knowing she would dare to use it against him, leaving him vulnerable. That secret he kept only to his limited sorcerers who had pledged in the ancient language not to betray him. Only Murtagh or the king himself could dare to alone compete with her superior fighting technique without the aid of magic. In his mission to create a deadly force to be used when no alternative was left, Galbatorix was successful except for her own compliance.

The tone of his voice changed to hold even more unbidden fury. "You willingly allowed the soldiers to turn you into butcher's meat after the training you have gone through all these years? The soldiers sent to return you to the castle are leagues below the status of your abilities, yet you are returned to me looking like a filthy beggar from the streets and say nothing of explanation!" A magical flick of his hand through the air sent her flying back several feet, landing in a heap on the stone floor.

A voice, as deep and rumbling as though it came from the depths of the highest mountain in Alagaesia, invaded her mind and filled her head as Shruikan added his wisdom. _After the training you have endured these long years, there must have been a grave mistake that took place during your capture. Those sent were nothing to you but hawks on the breeze to me. There was a reserve of soldiers shortly behind the group that proved successful in your capture that fully expected to complete the job. Enlighten us, young warrior, and you will be spared more agony._ His words were cruel in their simplicity, his tone demanding the answer without taking it from her mind.

She pushed herself up off the floor slowly and deliberately, eyes locked on the King. "It was due to a quick action that could not have been foreseen. In the midst of fighting, my horse was knocked down and crushed my leg as it fell. Suffice it to say, you now lack some of your faithful hunting dogs, despite the outcome of the battle," she answered the dragon. She stood as proud as she could; it was her turn to speak her mind on the matter. "What of me now? How do you feel with all that work and time for no reward in the end? Your own soldier has ruined your last hope. What-"

"Enough!" he roared. She felt an invisible force render her mute, feeling the dark magic flow from the king who stood before her. "I will test you tomorrow in the training fields at dawn. Visit the healers and then return to your normal quarters. If you do not show when the sun rises, you will know torture like never before, Lenora."

The force now absent, she replied "I'll be waiting, _father_."

A cliffhanger, I am so evil… Please, _please _review and I will respond as soon as I can. All support, comments and suggestions are welcome, but flames will be used to light my fireplace while it rains!


	4. Judgment

**Chapter 3-Judgment**

While the healers had been able to mend her many scrapes and bleeding cuts, they deemed her leg irreparable, despite their use of magic. The most these magic users could do was prevent the exposed bone from moving further out of position after they magically set it most painfully. It would mend on its own they assured her and the guard Galbatorix had sent to ensure Lenora's return to her quarters.

_As if I could go anywhere with this bloody leg,_ she thought grimly. She had refused their offer of an aid to help her walk as it would only add to her despair and make her appear weak before the person she believed she could hate no more than she already did.

The guard slowed his stride to match her own as they made their way through the dimly lit passageways of the castle. As with all the other servants of the empire, he knew nothing of her secret training with the king, nor that she was his daughter. All he knew was that he was to take careful precautions while escorting her through the castle, no matter how battered and un-intimidating she appeared. Galbatorix kept his secrets a privilege for only a select few to indulge, knowing it would keep the risks few and in between. The guard did not converse with her beyond relaying the king's orders to stay within her quarters until morning. After making certain she was where she was supposed to be, he left to stand watch at the nearest intersection in the hallway.

She turned to her sparse accommodations which contained only a bed, small chest of drawers and a table with a chair. The only other door led to a small wash closet off to the right. She was exhausted, despite the early afternoon, but remained too disciplined to sleep. Motivated by the prospect of eventual freedom, she sat at the table and pulled out spare parchment and a quill from the drawer beneath the tabletop and began strategizing her next break for freedom.

It must be at an inconspicuous time during the next few weeks—however, it could take longer. The king had placed extra security not only around her sleeping quarters, but also strategically about the castle and every place she had been or would be. Not that she had much choice in the matter with suspicious eyes watching her every move. She knew the king's henchmen would make daily—perhaps hourly—reports on her whereabouts to Galbatorix, who would make a second attempt at escape almost that of a suicidal fool. That is, if she were not indispensable. However, she could not be sure of that now that she was crippled. If the healers' magic could not repair the wound, she had no other choice than accept the fact that she would never be the same, and therefore a different, now incapacitated fighter. True, presenting this fact to the king had been gratifying, but she knew it would not prove beneficial in later days. Whenever she finally stole her freedom, she would need to be in the best shape possible in order to survive, especially when her father discovered her missing. He would never willingly grant her freedom after she had spent almost seventeen years within the empire's castle, unavoidably learning some things better left alone in a position such as hers. However, the purpose of the prisoners she saw that morning eluded her for the king had all the servants he needed and more. Purposefully or not, she was the key to the weaknesses within the empire and it was that which she would use to her advantage. Physically drained from blood loss, she welcomed a long rest before the fight which would determine her whole future.

A sense of purpose enveloped her as she awoke before the sun the following morning. She stretched, winching as her leg pained her and limped to the wash closet. She turned on the hot faucet, allowing steaming water to fill the tub. Stripping of the rags one could hardly call clothes anymore, she stepped into boiling water and used a simple bar of soap to scrub the dried blood from her hair and body, avoiding glancing at her gruesome-looking leg. Knowing she did not have as much time as she wished, she regretfully drained the water and used a towel to dry. Wrapping it around her, she went to the chest of drawers, changing into suitable sparring clothes. Leather breeches would protect her leg as much as was possible while a fitted tunic and leather vest might prevent minor injuries to the torso. She tightened her belt and empty sheath around her waist, missing the familiar weight of her sword. Before slipping into tough hide boots, she carefully fastened an empty dagger sheath to the inside of her calf—who knew when she may gain her weapons back? Tying her wet hair back loosely, she stood from the bed and hobbled out the door. The replacement guard snapped his attention to her direction.

"Come with me," he ordered. Rolling her eyes, she followed suit. Their heavy boots thudded solemnly, her own gait echoed back stiff and uneven. They reached another guard she knew to be most loyal to her father and one of which he trusted with her secret.

"All yours Hiran," he announced, and relieved of his duty, he changed course, heading for the kitchens. Hiran looked at her with something close to disgust, then turned and began walking without a word. Knowing it would be foolish to disobey now, she continued on as they approached the doorway she recognized from her multitudes of sessions with her father while learning to fight. Sunlight beamed through as the door was opened and she limped out, blinded momentarily in the brilliant light. The desert heat drilled into her. Ten soldiers lined the twenty-foot-tall walls that enclosed the small training field. Straw stuffed dummies and wooden targets lined one side of the square field, looking old and worn. She noticed her sword, bow and quiver propped against the wall near her, and her dagger which lay on the ground. Having her weapons back left her feeling not as vulnerable as she sheathed both sword and dagger, leaving the others against the wall. They always sparred first.

Quaking aspens rustled suddenly, stirred by great gusts of wind. Leaves ripped from their hosts and flew over the wall. The deep concussions of sound she felt inside her chest first. She knew what was coming. Shruikan appeared and blotted out the rising sun as he cleared the wall, landing just heavily enough to send a shock through her leg and into the body. Galbatorix dismounted gracefully, almost catlike as he used his dragon's foreleg to climb down, clad in full armor. She knew the routine, allowing her wrath to envelop her and take over.

Unsheathing his sword, he looked her up and down, addressing the severity of her injuries. Silently, he ran two fingers along either side of the blade, blocking it—it would not do to have a fighter cut to ribbons, but broken bones were mend-able at least. She unsheathed her own sword, murmuring the only words she knew in the ancient language to block the edge, wanting no more than to slice him shoulder to hip. _Gëuloth du knífr,_ dull the knife. Twirling her sword around her hand, she stared into his malicious eyes, watching for intent. She stepped forward, giving all her weight to the left and then he was on her like a snake, his sword gleaming as it came down with lightening speed and unmatched strength.

She was just as quick with the blade and parried his continuing blows as they struck hard and hast. She then struck with eagerness, wanting to strike and make contact, damage. In her zeal and anger she felt his blade smash into her ribs on the right, but the crunching sound of one broken didn't deter her—all part of the practice. In a true fight, it could be her life he would have taken, but the hit buoyed her sense of vengeance. Grinding her teeth, holding her left hand to stabilize her side, she let the pain flow through her movements to aid the power of her attacks. He dodged her first, parried the second, but the third clipped his armor on the side as the chain-mail clinked. He growled angrily and they fought each other for what seemed like hours, matched and locked in a battle neither would stand to lose. So focused was she on the fight, that she did not even notice the large red dragon and rider that landed in the field to watch.

Finally Galbatorix swung too quickly for her to react, slamming the blade into the shoulder she left exposed. The jolt sent her falling to the right, instinctually catching herself on her leg, yelling in pain as it partially crumpled beneath her. She stopped herself on one knee just in time to catch his blade against hers. Flicking his wrist, the sword twisted from her grasp and landed on the ground behind her.

"The healers did not mend your leg," he stated as he pointed the weapon at her throat.

"No, but my thirst for your blood has not been diminished," she snarled. Using her position to launch herself from the ground, she leapt for his hand that held the sword. Grabbing hold of it and using a pressure point on the wrist to make him drop the weapon, she tried to stomp hard enough through his boot to temporarily cripple his foot while she twisted her back to him as she slammed her left elbow into his face. Or what should have been his face. Before she was able to make contact, he had swept her left leg from beneath her, sending her unceremoniously onto the ground where she immediately attempted to trip him and bring him down. He stepped on her crippled leg before she was able to kick his feet out from under him. Excruciating pain burst through her, tears obscured her vision and she could hear someone howling in torment, realizing it was her. She automatically reached into her boot for her dagger, intending to stab his knee.

"It would be wise not to try that" he said smoothly, adding pressure and listening to her scream with a murderous gleam in his eye. Lifting his foot, he knelt next to her, speaking in a voice so low that only she could hear.

"You are no more to me than a worthless cripple. You won't last five minutes in battle with that leg."

"Then kill me," she said, her voice shaking with fury and pain.

"Oh no Lenora. You're not getting off that easily. Neither are you going free; I know you have meddled in affairs you would be better off not knowing. I think a lifetime in the dungeons where you can never get into trouble again will make life much simpler for both of us."

With that, two soldiers marched over and took her under the arms, dragging her away to her new living quarters. She lifted her head and her eyes met those of Murtagh, rider for the empire. Thorn stood behind him, his head hanging down near his rider, slitted eyes watching her with interest. As she and the guards passed them, she saw pity etched in his expression.

Please review and tell me what you think and I will post a new chapter.


	5. Lament

**Chapter 4-Lament**

"Eragon! Wake up! C'mon brother, we don't have time for this… Eragon…**Eragon**!" He awoke to the sound of Roran calling his name incessantly. His eyes opened and he saw the canvas of the tent ceiling.

"Uhg. It feels like I've been kicked by a horse. What happened?"

"Some strange woman brought you here unconscious. I didn't know what had happened to you until Saphira told me you passed out when you reversed Elva's curse—"

"Elva! How is she? Has the curse been lifted?"

"I really don't know Eragon—"

_Saphira, what happened? Is Elva alright? _He asked urgently.

_Peace, little one. You've been out all night. Elva is fine but you should see her for yourself,_ she said mysteriously. He pushed himself upright, ignoring how dizziness engulfed him for a moment and rushed out to her. Roran followed close behind.

"This Elva…this is the child you accidentally cursed? I wasn't aware that you were able to reverse words that were said in the ancient language…" he said, panting to keep up with Eragon who strode quickly through the tall grass.

"I didn't know I could do it either. It took a lot more energy than I thought it would have. I believed with my abilities I would have been able to counter the effect but I was wrong. I do hope she's back to normal now…whatever normal is for her…" he said more to himself than Roran. They passed many people wearing clean armor or their best shirts and tunics for no one expected a funeral to be held at the plains. A solemn feeling filled the air around them. Dwarves grieved freely, tears running down their faces and wetting their beards.

Finally arriving at Angela's, Eragon paused apprehensively.

_Do not worry, Eragon. See what has become of the child, _Saphira assured him. Smiling up at her, he then slipped through the flap and searched the tent for Elva. He saw Angela sitting on the floor mixing something in a small pot.

"Eragon! I wondered when you would wake. How are you feeling?" Angela's greeting much less hostile, he allowed himself to be calmed.

"I'm fine, thanks Angela. Where is Elva?"

"Here. Take a look," she invited him to approach her. Eragon was able to see there was a young toddler sitting on the ground immersed in curiosity as she petted Solembum, who lay next to her purring with his eyes closed. The child was smiling broadly and noticed nothing else.

"Solembum has been showing the greatest patience with her. She seems to have no memories of what she has been through since you first encountered her," Angela said happily.

"That's Elva? I wasn't sure I could do it, but it worked. She'll never be burdened by such matters again!" Eragon exclaimed joyfully.

"Thanks to you Eragon, she is again simply an innocent babe. We are both grateful. I apologize for threatening you earlier. You've performed the magic perfectly."

"It is my pleasure to have lifted the curse. It is I who should thank you Angela for binding me so forcefully to my word. Elva will do well in your care," he smiled to her. "Will you be attending Hrothgar's funeral today?"

"Aye. We will all be there. You would do well to get ready yourself Eragon," she replied.

He nodded before turning and leaving the tent.

"How is she?" Roran asked him.

"Fine. Not but an infant now," Eragon said. "The curse is gone."

Roran wrapped his arm around Eragon's shoulders and they began walking back to their tent to prepare.

"Eragon…Eragon…Shadeslayer!" he heard Orik call from behind them. The dwarf ran up to them. "Have you prepared for the service?"

_Saphira, we don't have a speech! _He said silently, betraying none of his alarm though his features.

_While you rested last night I recited to Roran a few words. We are ready save for your formal attire, _she said to him quietly.

_Have I told you how much I love you?_ Eragon asked her gratefully.

_Every day little one,_ she hummed.

"Aye, my friend, we have a speech in memory of Hrothgar, do not worry. He meant a great deal to the both of us. As a faithful member of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum I want to make sure that Hrothgar's memory lives on forever in every man, woman, child and creature that attends his funeral."

"Thank you Eragon. You could do no greater deed," Orik said tearfully. "I must help my people in the preparations. I shall see all of you there."

"That you will," Eragon said as the distressed dwarf set off.

"Nice save," Roran commented. "I take it Saphira told you?"

"Aye. Let us get ready."

--

"When Saphira and I first entered Farthen Dûr over a year ago, we were distrusted and many feared us within the Varden for we had not shown our allegiance to either side. Despite this, Hrothgar showed us incredible kindness and trust. He understood our position and showed us all that the Varden had to offer," Eragon recited that afternoon as he stared out at thousands of eyes, remembering the dwarf mentor that had so generously invited him to join the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, the highest honor for any dwarf and unknown for any other race until that day. He and Saphira had decided to let this highly disputed decision go unnamed during this time of great sadness among the dwarves.

"King Hrothgar was one of most courageous people I have ever come across in all my travels. He betrayed no fear and emanated wisdom and knowledge. Few people could have brought such success to an entire race so large as the dwarves, yet to Hrothgar, this was only a small part in his responsibilities. It was only through _barzul _that we sit here today. For the sake of the dwarves, I hope the return to Farthen Dûr as safe as the arrival. May the dwarves find peace in the happenings to come and a king to continue the many achievements of their fallen hero and my mentor. _Stydja unin mor'ranr, Hrothgar Könungr,_ Rest in peace, King Hrothgar."

Saphira projected her voice to the crowd. _In honor of Hrothgar's memory, I will respect my promise to the dwarves and return to Farthen Dûr to mend the Star Sapphire, Isidar Mithrim, as soon as I possess the knowledge and strength to complete the task. _

Eragon was only one of many who rose to speak of Hrothgar that day. Orik had spoken the most eloquently about his stepfather, reminiscing on his most prestigious accomplishments and his close relationships among the dwarves. Though he had lamented freely since the death, he spoke with a steady voice, showing the importance of a life well lived and spent in complete benevolence for his people. Eragon still reserved hope that his friend would rise to the occasion when the time permitted and take place as King among the dwarves. Stony silence was all that was heard that day as the procession came to an end and as one, the dwarves rose from their seats of rock, pots and packs, and arranged themselves in the custom formation for the return of a hero to his final resting place. Orik passed Eragon and Saphira as he joined the procession but did not acknowledge them in his new haze of grief and determination.

"_Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass_, may your sword stay sharp, my friend," Eragon said quietly.

--

At almost two years of age, Saphira could fly with two riders and supplies, confident she could handle one more once they rescued Katrina. Now she lay, crouched low to the ground with a foreleg stuck out as Roran struggled with the heavy pack that contained supplies for three, attempting to lift and place it across Saphira's saddle.

"Roran," Eragon said, chuckling at his cousin's grunting with the effort to lift the pack, "allow me."

"Just because I'm not…part elf…doesn't mean I can't lift this…blasted bag a few—ah!" Roran struggled to communicate before subsequently losing grip on the saddlebags. Eragon was holding the pack in an instant, effortlessly lifting it high above his head and placing it across Saphira's back, strapping it to the saddle securely.

"I could've done that…" Roran mumbled.

"It's alright brother," Eragon smiled, "it's been a long day."

As she straightened to her full height, growing larger with every new day, Saphira looked behind them.

_Arya approaches,_ she stated simply.

Instead of looking, Eragon allowed his mental radar to pick up the powerful presence of the nearing elf.

"Arya Svit-Kona," he greeted her before she had come into his view, "come to say farewell?"

"Aye, rider. Been surveying the area, have we?" she laughed lightly, the sound making Eragon shiver inside. "You sure know how to embrace your elven side."

"Actually," he said, swiveling on his heels until he faced her, "Saphira told me you were coming."

"It is with the deepest love between friends that I wish all of you a safe and successful journey. Saphira, continue to protect and care so graciously for these two here so that I may be so fortunate to see all of you again. Please find happiness in your travels and perhaps the chance for love yourself, young Bjartskular."

_Likewise, Arya,_ Saphira's reply was heard.

"May you rescue your fiancée, Roran-vodhr, and return to a place not so war-torn and dismal. I would be honored to attend the wedding service if I were present." Roran, having learned selectively of the ways of the Elves, twisted his hand in the gesture of thanks and respectively left to stand next to Saphira.

"You're returning to Ellesméra," Eragon stated, knowing what she told them in the elves' roundabout ways.

"Aye, I return to my people until the Varden again request my assistance. I am needed to help organize the Elves when the battle for the Empire finally comes to be."

Sobered by their mutual agreement of solely friendship, Eragon tried to feel not more than love between friends. "I wish your journey too, a worthwhile one," he said.

In the gentlest and more sincere undertone, Arya acknowledged his feelings. "I know you still grieve, Eragon, but I have one request of you before you depart and we know not when we shall see each other again: I wish you to find not only the woman for your valiant cousin, but too, I wish you to find a soulmate of your own. You deserve someone more than me, rider, so please direct your efforts to your own benefit than my own."

The words cut deep, and yet, were genuinely compassionate and caring. Eragon locked eyes with the elf in a mutual understanding. "_Atra esterní __ono__ thelduin_may good fortune rule over you."

"_Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,_peace live in your heart," Arya replied.

"_Un du evarínya ono varda_ and the stars watch over you." Eragon completed the farewell, and turned and joined his companions. Roran sat astride Saphira and held out a hand for him.

"Let us be off, brother," Roran said gently. Taking his hand, Eragon pulled himself onto Saphira. As great, feathered wings rose high, they felt her strength ripple through her crouched body and with one last look, they rose into the sky and headed for an uncertain battle.

--

Please review—the little button is calling you…..answer its pleas and be spared the wait for new chapters….laughs evilly


	6. Plan

**Chapter 5-Plan**

Lenora sat in the dark cell wondering how she would get out of this new predicament. Within her normal quarters she would have been able to have a chance. Not a likely one, but there still was hope. Now, there seemed no escape from the cell she had previously occupied the morning before. If only she had been taught magic! She knew that it would have been futile anyway; while she might be able to get out of the cell, Galbatorix was right: she was not the fighter she used to be. She might get close, but without a horse it was useless to even try. The guards would overtake her before she got even a glimpse of the stables. Cursing, she punched the stone wall, bloodying her knuckles. Staring hard at the floor, she sat musing in silence for a moment. Voices floated down from the hallway above, carried down the staircase like a tunnel. They were not clear enough to make out what they were saying, but she could hear the deep baritones of two men conversing softly. Curious, she scooted over to the bars and pressed her head to the cold steel, starting to understand a few words.

"Where…think…going?" one asked.

"…well kept secret….servants don't even know…disappear….brother never returned…" another answered. She tried desperately to listen harder.

"Do you really believe they all were killed?"

Grunt. "Who really can say? My guess is we're all on death row."

Realization seeped into her. Leaning against the wall, she knew these were some of the prisoners guessing about what fate lay ahead for all of them. She could not make sense of the conversation, but it seemed that the prisoners were all taken somewhere, never to return again. What purpose could merciless killing serve for the Empire? At the very least, these prisoners could make useful servants within the castle. In the kitchens they wouldn't even have to be seen. Then she remembered what she saw. All the prisoners were weak, emaciated, listless or mad. These were the throwaways. The ones that were useless to the king. Something still didn't fit into place. Why not simply feed them, bulk them up? It wouldn't take much to bring most of them back to life, one that could be used constructively. She loathed the thought of slavery, but that was probably where all those people had come from—the stocks. Why buy the weak ones only to leave them in the dungeons? It didn't make any sense.

The sound of expensive studded boots coming down the stairs drew her once again from her thoughts. Slow but deliberate, the steps came closer. She wondered if it could be a guard, but there was no jangle of keys. The shadow she saw first showed someone wearing a cloak. Only those traveling or riders normally wore cloaks.

"Hello Princess," came the playful taunt.

"Murtagh," she smiled. "What brings you down to my exquisite living accommodations today? Would you like some tea? Gourmet, water used from only the best puddles in the dungeon. Essence of hatred and revenge for the King will cost you extra."

"I'll pass thanks. Just wanted to see how my favorite person in the castle was doing today?"

Her mood dampened instantly. "You saw what happened. I really didn't know what was going to happen after the King discovered I'm no longer one of his greatest assets. Of course he'd never set me free, I _know_ too much."

"Do you? Where'd you learn all these deep dark secrets, I wonder?" he asked with an air of curiosity.

"Oh maybe just from that guy that rides around on a big red overgrown lizard and answers to the biggest jerk in all of Alagaesia…" she winked.

"Oh come on, what can I do Lenora? You're lucky he doesn't know your own true name, a fact you seem to take for granted sometimes. But he does know Thorn's and my true names. I would be on the other side of Alagaesia if that were not true. "

"Then life would be really dull for me. I'd be his last and only chance, recently crippled. I don't think he'd handle that too well…"

"He isn't," Murtagh answered.

"What do you mean? All he did was torture me. He didn't kill anybody this time at least. I thought it was rather reserved."

"I guess you missed the grand finale. He called this guard over, and from what I gathered, he was the lead rider in your capture the other night. You should have heard your father yelling at him-"

"_Don't _call him that," she cut in.

"Sorry?"

"He's not my father. He's the most hated man in the country and I can't stand him. He doesn't deserve to be called 'father'," she said venomously.

Murtagh respected her views on this subject. "Anyway, he was going on and on about how this one soldier was ordered to bring you back alive and well, no matter how it was accomplished. They were allowed to fight but not maim. Unfortunately as we both know, it didn't turn out as planned, and now the King's absolutely livid. He turned around and looked as if he was about to ride off on Shruikan, but all of a sudden he swiveled back around and stabbed the man straight through the chest," he explained.

"Bastard deserved it," she mumbled.

"Body's gone though. He ordered its removal immediately afterwards. He wants to mainrain a false image to the empire as a benevolent ruler."

She snorted sarcastically. "I think he's gone a little too far to actually think that anyone would believe that anymore."

"I guess. What with the slave trade still in business everyday in Urû'baen."

She remembered what she was going to ask him. "Murtagh, what are those prisoners up there for? Aren't they slaves from the trade?" He grew sullenly silent. "But you must know!"

"They are as you suspect."

"But why are they in the dungeons and not being used? It doesn't make any sense."

"They are used, simply not as you expect. The King sends men to buy them at auctions then crams them together in cells down here."

"Why in Alagaësia would he do that?" she asked.

"Once a month, he employs two new soldiers to march them, shackled, to Helgrind. There they are placed in yet more cells to await their fate…"

"What _is _their fate Murtagh? I know you know," she persisted. He faltered. "I can always ask Thorn if you won't tell me…"

Murtagh relented. "When Galbatorix's most prestigious men become weary in battle against the Varden, these prisoners are what they use to replenish their strength. New reserves are always supplied in the event of a sudden uprising because as these prisoners are drained of strength they slowly die until they are robbed of their last tendrils of life by those who use it only to kill still more," he said gravely.

Her mind recoiled in horror. "That is why Galbatorix is so strong, why nobody can defeat him?" He nodded. "Murtagh, _you _haven't used these people to save yourself have you?"

"I had no choice! Galbatorix stressed to Thorn and me that we were to use this resource if there was no other choice left to try to capture Eragon and Saphira. As much as it disgusts me, there was no other way."

She narrowed her eyes, grasping the cold steel bars of the cell until her knuckles turned white. "Prove it to me."

He sighed. "_Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal_, upon my word as a rider." The words were pronounced and powerful.

Satisfied and calm again, she allowed the subject to drop. "Murtagh, I have an idea. Would you be able to help me…?"

"What is this idea of yours? Escape again? You really should have told Thorn and me what you were doing last time you tried. Besides the King, you and I are the most powerful humans in the empire. Had you thought to enlist our help, you would have succeeded, Lenora."

"I know full well that the King dug through your mind to see if you were involved. If you had had anything to do with the other night, I knew that he would have tortured both you and Thorn like he does me."

"Nothing could have compared to how he tortured us when we returned from Surda without Eragon and Saphira," he mumbled. "We both would have been perfectly willing to aid you whether Galbatorix took action or not."

_Yes young one, next time you want to escape, inform us and we will do anything in our power to help. What can do we for you now? _Thorn's kind rumbling voice entered her mind when she permitted access.

She spoke to both of them. "You say that these prisoners are sent to Helgrind with only two guards?"

"Aye. They are all too weak to do much about the situation or try to take the men that escort them. Between here and Helgrind lies nothing but the Ramr River, exposed and near as bare as the Hadarac. Both Urû'baen and Dras-Leona remain under Galbatorix's rule where the prisoners could easily be recaptured. If they did manage to escape, none of them have supplies to hunt if they somehow were able to live through the fight and make it to the nearest town. The King has created a foolproof method."

"Perhaps not foolproof…" Lenora considered.

_And one more thing,_ Thorn added, _the last egg lies within Helgrind. _

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Once again, thanks to everybody who have been faithfully reading and reviewing. I will continue to post new chapters as long as I get a few new reviews per chapter. (This time I'm shooting for four!)


	7. Deceit

**Chapter 6-Deceit**

The stench of imminent death hung in the air like an omen. She sat in a corner as inconspicuously as possible, drawing no attention to herself as her companions were too focused on their current quandaries. They had been told they would be marched for seven straight days to a destination unknown. Except to one. Lenora mused on the simplicity of her plan.

Murtagh had turned his own training against the King and used it to do what would more than likely end in lethal punishment were Galbatorix to find out. Extending his mind and seizing control of the dungeon guard who held the keys, he used this host to unlock Lenora from her cell, provide her with loose peasant clothes to conceal her own and transfer her to a cell already containing many of the prisoners that were destined for Helgrind. Underneath the patched clothing she had hidden her sword and scabbard, keeping her dagger securely in her boot. She remembered the act they had played to sound convincing to the other prisoners and guards.

"Another rotten drudge?" a sleepy guard had asked as she and the brainwashed guard walked by. "Must be takin' them off the streets if they're that awful; look a' that limp!"

"Aye, this one's worse than the usual scum we get, but she'll do fine," the guard said gruffly before whisking her by, his grip on her arm not as rigid as he made it appear.

_My apologies Lenora, it must be as believable as possible, _Murtagh's voice sounded in her head.

_Just keep going. We can't let the other prisoners realize what we're doing yet either, it would be too evident. Keep it up, _she replied quickly.

She kept her head hung low, her eyes to the floor as if she were one of the many awaiting a fate one could only presume to be certain death. Murtagh had mended her broken rib and busted knuckles beforehand so the only pain she felt was her leg. As prepared as she could be, inside she was bursting with excitement.

"Lazy good-for-nothing piece-of-garbage!" he exclaimed loudly as he unlocked the cell. "Yer all alike. Least ya won't be lonely. Not for long though," he said, laughing. He shoved her into the cell and slammed the door, walking away. From down the hallway she heard the same guard say, "I'll take the morning shift. Cover for me will ya?"

_Very believable Murtagh, great work. What will you do now?_

_I'll erase his memory as soon as he gets to the same place he was when I took over his mind. He'll never know the difference, _Murtagh said.

_Will Galbatorix be able to track that this is your doing?_ She asked hesitantly.

_Nay. Technically, Thorn and I had no part in the whole thing. Galbatorix won't be able to figure out who did it. The only credible witnesses will be the guards who saw him put you in the cell. If anyone is punished, it will be him._

_Pity. And he'll not even know what he did…_ she said sardonically.

_Galbatorix will probably not figure out that you're gone for quite some time, as no one truly will know except Thorn and me. I have relayed orders to the other guards that it is only our puppet here who should check upon your state in the lower dungeons and take down food and water. He will be under the impression that he is doing this every day, so there is no need to worry about the King discovering your disappearance anytime soon. You will be leaving tomorrow, _Murtagh said. _I guess this is where we part. Let us hope we never meet again, for both of our sakes. I doubt Galbatorix will let me find any more loopholes in his orders and I'll be the first he'll send to retrieve you. Remember what we have told you. I wish you the best of luck. _Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass,_May your swords stay sharp!_

_There is no way to truly thank you and Thorn for what you have done for me. I will do whatever is in my power to free you both someday, _she promised. _Don't get into too much trouble._

Thorn's ominous warning still lingered on her mind. _Be cautious: the Ra'zac take their strength from these prisoners as well. Use what you know to the best of your abilities and never underestimate their power. Whatever the outcome of this inevitable conflict will determine the future of Alagaësia. Be prepared, and take heart, for we believe in you young one._

_So no pressure, huh? _She had joked.

The sound of another prisoner coughing brought her back to the present. She felt exhausted and let herself submit to the fatigue, knowing she would need all her strength for the journey in the morning.

The screeching metal door on the floor awoke her and the rest of her sleeping companions. A jug of water and a loaf of bread each were pushed through the tiny opening between the bars and the wall before cell doors were again slammed shut. People scrambled to the food and before she could move, it was gone. No matter. She had endured days at a time without food, and up to a day without water when she refused Galbatorix's orders. While she would survive without sustenance, the other prisoners who were also too slow she worried for.

"Hurry up! We leave before the sun rises," the guard announced. But the order went unheard as the lucky ones inhaled their food so as no one else could steal it. Half an hour later they were lined up and shackled, chains clattering along the floor as they slowly made their way up the stairs and outside into the early morning. The long march began. One guard led the way while the other trailed behind the line to keep the slow ones from holding up the others.

As the sun steadily rose, their shadows revolved around them and it became the monotonous walk that began and ended their days for uncountable leagues. Men, women and children fell into a rhythm that was only interrupted for short necessary breaks to allow the captives to relieve themselves at certain times of the day. They ate their carelessly divided bread while walking and slept only five hours each night. Lenora almost lost track of time but when she saw the faint glimmer of the Ramr River on the evening of their fourth day, she knew they were steadily approaching freedom.

Near the banks of the river where more foliage grew, a large root had pushed itself out of the ground and she allowed herself to trip and fall, landing heavily on her left side on the ground.

"Get up you worthless lump!" the guard behind her immediately demanded. She proceeded to grab her ankle and rock back and forth as if in horrible pain.

"I think I broke it!" she said through clenched teeth.

"Meron!" The first guard called. "We can stop for just a minute. I'll be right back." He walked a ways until he disappeared behind a clump of trees.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to walk," she exclaimed.

"We will not be held up by the incompetence of one idiot," the second guard said cruelly. She heard the crunch of leaves under his boots as he came closer. She slid her hand into her boot and grabbed her dagger from its sheath. The guard knelt down next to her and grasped her arm, beneath which she hid the dagger. As he pulled her up, she used his vulnerable position to wrap her arm around his neck, another to his mouth and silently slit his throat. He fell heavily to the ground with a muffled thud in the dirt. She dug through his pockets until she found the key she was looking for. Jamming it into the lock, she freed herself and rolled the dead guard over. Stealing the quiver of arrows and his bow, she knocked an arrow, aiming it for the clump of trees she had seen the other guard leave into. She crouched, waiting, the lethal hunter who wanted nothing more than her freedom. The crunch of leaves alerted her to his arrival as she loosed the weapon, hitting him straight in the chest, the result of multitudes of years of practice. She checked each for a pulse to make sure they were gone, and then passed the key she still held to the first prisoner in the line.

"Galbatorix has sent you to the dungeons at Helgrind. There you would have continued this suffering until you had perished, used as a life force for the King's henchmen sent to battle or as sustenance for the Ra'zac. The only way you will survive is by this river. Have any of you hunted before?" she addressed the several dozen people.

A young man not much older than she spoke up, his voice rough from under-use. "When I lived in Therinsford I would hunt for my family. I can hunt for my friends here today," he announced.

"But we can't live here forever! We're sure to run out of food sooner or later. And we have no supplies other than that of the guards," another protested. Soon others were murmuring and uproar seemed imminent.

"Peace! Here live many sources of food from the berries on the bushes to the deer that surround us now. Stay here only as long as you need to gain enough strength for further travel. To the south lies Furnost and Tiidosten Lake. Here you will be welcomed unlike the city of Dras-Leona. Take the roads and be mindful of more slavers for they prowl the open country for stragglers. It is here that I leave you. I sincerely hope you all survive and live on to tell the story of how you escaped from the King. Perhaps some of you will fight against the Empire in future battles."

"Young warrior, what name shall we tell who saved us from the Ra'zac?" an older man questioned.

"My name is too dangerous to have circulating the Empire. The King must not know I have escaped. Alas my friends, I cannot reveal my name. I wish you luck." She turned, and continued her endless journey, limping as badly as before.

_That's what they'll remember me for,_ she thought grimly. _The limping warrior. At least they don't know how that originated._

The days seemed longer without the slight companionship of the other captives. The trees had thinned since leaving the river and she felt exposed and very alone. Her leg pained her constantly but with the need for constant movement she found she was able to block out most of the pain until it was only background noise. In this way she made her way across the plains of Alagaësia, resting for only a few hours before traveling again. She used her precious supply of arrows to shoot several rabbits while near the river which she kept and ate along the way. She sorely wished for a horse so the journey would be much easier and faster but she knew this was only the first step in a long line of challenges.

She began pondering Murtagh's situation with Galbatorix. She knew there must be a way to free him from the King's grasp but the solution eluded her. She knew only the most rudimentary magic, but was aware that the Elves were much stronger than the average human in this area. And what of the Varden's rider, Eragon? Would he be friend or foe to one in her position? Surely once he figured out she was the daughter of Galbatorix, any relationship she had forged with him would be erased completely, damn the way she felt about the situation. This certainly wouldn't help her free the rider.

On the morning of the seventh day, she paused to make out the slight break in the horizon where Helgrind rose from the earth, piercing the sky like a black dagger. She had no idea how she would enter the fortress or where she might find the egg while she was there, but there was no turning back now. Determined, she began marching towards the first step of her plan.

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On a more important note than usual, I have noticed a serious decline in readers and reviewers and without the support of my loyal fans, I will not continue to post new chapters. I have posted this chapter as more of an experiment to see if these will pick up a bit. If you want to figure out what happens, just click that little button down there and tell me what you thought!


	8. Confrontation

**Chapter 7-Confrontation**

First off, thanks to First Girl Rider and xLxM for reviews on the last chapter.

Disclaimer: WARNING: SPOILERS: I rewrote a few parts of the chapter in the 3rd Inheritance Book by Christopher Paolini that you can read in the special Edition of Eldest. The beginning and the title are my own writing, but Paolini owns ALL of the rest. Please review, don't sue.

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The wind whipped at their faces as Eragon and Roran rode astride Saphira, flying low and fast on their way to Helgrind. Their only stop had been the Jiet River near the bend where they refilled their waterskins and Saphira hunted, then they continued on after a brief night's rest. Clumps of trees and foliage below blurred beneath their pace, Saphira's wings partially tucked close to her body to enable her to fly as quickly as possible. Beneath this urgency that prevailed their journey, there emanated a sense of uncertainty. The trio had strategized since leaving the burning plains on their method of attack and how to locate and free Katrina from whatever hell she still endured.

_Eragon, _Saphira asked, _have you thought of what you might do in order to defeat the Ra'zac? Part elf or not, they will still have more strength and stamina than you and Roran. The Lethrblaka very well may be there as well. Perhaps we can enlist the aid of water or light in order to weaken them and bring them down to your own level of proficiency?_

He touched Beloth the Wise lightly, glancing at the unfamiliar scabbard and sword he was given by the Varden to replace Zar'roc until he discovered his true Rider's sword. _I have thought about this and I believe that if we are able to weaken one of them, the rest will come more easily or better, they may back down. These creatures are cowardly and only answer to the king out of fear. _

_So you have learned the ways of those loyal to Galbatorix,_ she said, _you have come far. From what you read in __Ellesméra, the Ra'zac do not use magic. This may be the difference between triumph and defeat. Remember both the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka possess immense strength and an unquenchable hunger for human flesh._

"Ha!" interjected Roran, rotating his shoulder in its socket, "I will never forget those creature's evil ways. My shoulder still pains me when I move it sometimes. Eragon, no doubt Katrina will be held within some sort of magical bind. We approach a certain trap, how will we overcome these barriers? Certainly, they outmatch my own strength, were I able to perform magic or not. Perhaps you will be able to conquer the magic that surely holds her."

"I will do whatever is within my power to free Katrina, brother, do not trouble yourself. This is my top priority at the moment as well as yours and we will never settle with defeat. I wish repayment for my actions in Carvahall in witnessing your wedding with your fiancée, safe and unburdened for days to come," Eragon responded solemnly.

"I see your travels have blessed upon you not only the elven traits you now possess but their wisdom as well," Roran addressed.

Eragon chuckled. "Nay, the elves' knowledge resonates from centuries old wisdom from which I have only gleamed a sight through a few of their scriptures and teachings. I am still the Eragon you knew back home, simply, a few years experienced in the ways of the world. You would enjoy the elves' home, I believe. Perhaps once we have rescued Katrina, you might prefer to travel there sometime. Ellesméra is a place of unrenowned beauty where you may test yourself to your very limits in the arts of not only fighting, but philosophy and knowledge."

"You certainly have grown, Eragon," Roran mused. "I have no doubt we will prevail."

Saphira hummed her agreement. _The sky grows dark. Let us rest for the night; we will all need our strength._

They settled down in a small clearing of large evergreens where they would be less likely to be seen. After Saphira's tack was removed and their supplies laid out, Eragon took his waterskin and squeezed a small amount into his palm. Roran came and sat next to him, staring intently at the water.

_Draumr Kópa. _A small image of Katrina, her face swollen and bruised, cuts bleeding, her hands chained high above her head against a blank background filled the water.

"She still lives. We will arrive tomorrow but, Roran, the only way we shall prevail is through not solely might, but also cunning. Because she seems to be getting no worse, we should rest the night and have the strength for the fight," Eragon stated carefully, not knowing what Roran's reaction might be. Having traveled half of Alagaësia in his quest to rescue the woman he loved, Eragon felt a completely new respect for his cousin. Eragon was confident Roran would fight to his life's end for Katrina and often worried that that might be his downfall against the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka.

Roran's brow furrowed as he pondered the implications of both situations. Finally he said, "I agree with you. It would not do Katrina any good to have us imprisoned next to her or simply killed in our mission to rescue her. We should attack with a plan and confidence. We are not fools nor should we act like such. The only way to approach this situation is with a clear head and a rested body. As we fly tomorrow, we must figure out a way to proceed in the most efficient and successful way possible."

They ate their last hot meal over the fire Saphira smartly started with a quick, almost careless snort. As he settled against her belly, Eragon smiled. Though this was the same Roran he knew, he had also grown in their time apart and was not as impulsive as before. He knew what to do and when to do it. Over time he marveled how different and yet how similar they had both become. As Saphira kept watch, the rider fell asleep thinking on the different ways they might win the fight once they reached the Gates of Death.

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The next day was spent flying and discussing techniques and methods to dueling the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. As they had arrived at Helgrind as the sun sank near the horizon, their only method of determining the whereabouts of the creatures was Eragon's mind. He had discovered the guarded mind of an individual near Helgrind that slightly unnerved him, but those of the prisoners and the uniquely powerful minds of the Ra'zac were not to be found. Afterwards, in an attempt to ward themselves from such dangers, they had mutually agreed to block everything, including one another, from their minds for the night. Eragon and Roran took turns on watch as they prepared for the battle.

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(A/N: This following section is Paolini's writing, NOT MY OWN. However, I have slightly edited it to correspond to what I have already written for this story.)

Saphira kneaded the soil beneath her feet. Let us be off! Leaving their bags and supplies hanging from the branch of a juniper tree, Eragon and Roran clambered onto Saphira's back. They wasted no time saddling her; she had worn her tack through the night. The molded leather was warm, almost hot, underneath Eragon. He clutched the neck spike in front of him—to steady himself during sudden changes in direction—while Roran hooked one thick arm around Eragon's waist and brandished his hammer with the other. A piece of shale cracked under Saphira's weight as she settled into a low crouch and then, in a single giddy bound, leaped up to the rim of the gulch, where she balanced for a moment before unfolding her massive wings.

"Not so tight," grunted Eragon.

"Sorry," said Roran. He loosened his embrace.

Further speech became impossible as Saphira jumped again. When she reached the pinnacle of her jump, she brought her wings down with a mighty whoosh, driving the three of them even higher. With each subsequent flap, they climbed closer to the flat, narrow clouds that extended east to west. As Saphira angled toward Helgrind, Eragon glanced to his left and discovered that, because of their elevation, he could see a broad swath of Leona Lake some miles distant. A thick layer of mist, gray and ghostly in the pre-dawn glow, emanated from the water, as if witchfire burned upon the surface of the liquid. Eragon tried, but even with his hawklike vision, he could not make out the far shore, nor the southern reaches of the Spine beyond, which he regretted. He had not laid eyes upon the mountain range of his childhood since leaving Palancar Valley. To the north stood Dras-Leona, a huge, rambling mass that appeared as a blocky silhouette against the wall of mist that edged its western flank. The one building Eragon could identify was the cathedral where the Ra'zac had attacked him; its flanged spire loomed above the rest of the city, like a barbed spearhead. And somewhere in the landscape that rushed past below, Eragon knew, were the remnants of the campsite where the Ra'zac had mortally wounded Brom. He allowed all of his anger and grief over the events of that day—as well as Garrow's murder and the destruction of their farm—to surge forth and give him the courage, nay, the desire, to face the Ra'zac in combat.

A fan of golden light flared into existence as the top of the sun crested the horizon. In an instant, the full spectrum of colors enlivened the previously drab world: the mist glowed white, the water became a rich blue, the daubed-mud wall that encircled the center of Dras-Leona revealed its dingy yellow sides, the trees cloaked themselves in every shade of green, and the soil blushed red and orange. Helgrind, however, remained as it always was—black. The mountain of stone rapidly grew larger as they approached. Even from the air, it was intimidating.

Diving toward the base of Helgrind, Saphira tilted so far to her left, Eragon and Roran would have fallen if they had not already strapped their legs to the saddle. Then she whipped around the apron of scree and over the altar where the priests of Helgrind observed their ceremonies. The lip of Eragon's helm caught the wind from her passage and produced a howl that almost deafened him.

A great weight seemed to press Eragon into his seat as Saphira pulled out of her dive and spiraled up around Helgrind, searching for an entrance to the Ra'zac's hideout._ Not even a hole big enough for a woodrat,_ she declared. She slowed and hung in place before a ridge that connected the third lowest of the four peaks to the prominence above. The jagged buttress magnified the boom produced by each stroke of her wings until it was as loud as a thunderclap. Eragon's eyes watered as the air pulsed against his skin.

A web of white veins adorned the backside of the crags and pillars, where hoarfrost had collected in the cracks that furrowed the rock. Nothing else disturbed the gloom of Helgrind's inky, windswept ramparts. No trees grew there among the slanting stones, nor shrubs, nor grass, nor moss, nor lichen, nor did eagles dare nest upon the tower's broken ledges. True to its name, Helgrind was a place of death, and stood cloaked in the razor-sharp, sawtoothed folds of its scarps and clefts like a bony specter risen to haunt the earth.

Casting his mind outward, Eragon confirmed the presence of the one he thought might be an escaped slave from the night before, but to his concern, he could not locate the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka. If they aren't here, then where? he wondered. Searching again, he noticed something that had eluded him before: a single flower, a gentian, blooming not fifty feet in front of them where, by all rights, there ought to be solid rock. How did it get enough light to live?

Saphira answered his question by perching on a crumbling spur several feet to the right. As she did, she lost her balance for a moment and flared her wings to steady herself. Instead of brushing against the bulk of Helgrind, the tip of her right wing dipped into the rock and then back out again.

_Saphira, did you see that!_ _ I did._

Leaning forward, Saphira pushed the tip of her snout toward the sheer rock, paused an inch or two away—as if waiting for a trap to spring—then continued her advance. Scale by scale, Saphira's head slid into Helgrind, until all that was visible of her to Eragon was a neck, torso, and wings.

_It's an illusion! _exclaimed Saphira.

With a surge of her mighty thews, she abandoned the spur and flung the rest of her body after her head. It required every bit of Eragon's self-control not to cover his face in a desperate bid to protect himself as the crag rushed toward him.

An instant later, he found himself looking at a broad, vaulted cave suffused with the warm glow of morning. Saphira's scales refracted the light, casting thousands of shifting blue flecks across the rock. Twisting around, Eragon saw no wall behind them, only the mouth of the cave and a sweeping view of the landscape beyond.

Eragon grimaced. It had never occurred to him that Galbatorix might have hidden the Ra'zac's lair with magic. _Idiot! I have to do better_, he thought. Underestimating the king was a sure way to get them all killed.

Roran swore and said, "Warn me before you do something like that again."

Hunching forward, Eragon unbuckled his legs from the saddle as he studied their surroundings, alert for any danger. The opening to the cave was an irregular oval, perhaps fifty feet high and sixty feet wide. From there, the chamber expanded to twice that size before ending a good bowshot away in a pile of thick stone slabs that leaned against each other in a confusion of uncertain angles. A mat of powder-gray scratches defaced the floor, evidence of the many times the Lethrblaka had taken off, landed, and walked about thereon. Like mysterious keyholes, five low tunnels pierced the sides of the cave, as did a lancet passageway large enough to accommodate Saphira. Eragon examined the tunnels carefully, but they were pitch-black and appeared vacant, a fact he confirmed with quick thrusts of his mind. Strange, disjointed murmurs echoed from within Helgrind's innards, suggesting unknown things scurrying about in the dark, and endlessly dripping water. Adding to the chorus of whispers was the steady rise and fall of Saphira's breathing, which was overloud in the confines of the bare chamber.

The most distinctive feature of the cavern, however, was the mixture of odors that pervaded it. The smell of cold stone dominated, but underneath it, Eragon discerned whiffs of damp and mold and something far worse: the sickly-sweet fetor of rotting meat.

Undoing the last few straps, Eragon swung his right leg over Saphira's spine, so he was sitting sidesaddle, and prepared to jump off her back. Roran did the same on the opposite side.

Before he released his hold, Eragon heard, amid the many rustlings that teased his ear, a score of simultaneous clicks, as if someone had struck the rock with a collection of hammers. The sound repeated itself a half-second later. He looked in the direction of the noise, as did Saphira.

A huge, twisted shape hurtled out of the lancet passageway. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle. Claws like iron spikes.

Saphira lurched as she tried to evade the Lethrblaka, but to no avail. The creature crashed into her right side with what felt to Eragon like the strength and fury of an avalanche.

What exactly happened next, he knew not, for the impact sent him tumbling through space without so much as a half-formed thought in his jumbled brain. His blind flight ended as abruptly as it began when something hard and flat rammed against the back of him, and he dropped to the floor, banging his head a second time.

That last collision drove the remaining air clean out of Eragon's lungs. Stunned, he lay curled on his side, gasping and struggling to regain a semblance of control over his unresponsive limbs.

_Eragon! _cried Saphira.

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Again, remember that the majority of this writing is not my own, excluding the beginning. Remember, constructive criticism and comments are always appreciated. I will post new chapters according to the amount of reviews I receive. Thanks to everyone for reading! (If you have read this far, you might as well review!!)


	9. Discovery

**Chapter 8-Discovery**

Without more than a quiver of arrows and a bow, Lenora had slept easily concealed in the branches of the nearest tree to Helgrind, covered in the cloak she had taken from the dead guard. Now as daylight encroached upon her hiding spot, she peeked through the leaves at the black mountain that radiated a hidden dark power. Despite her time within the Empire, it had taken her remaining willpower to spend the night so near the Gates of Death. She understood how vulnerable the prisoners must always feel when forced into the fortress to stay where they dwindled away into skeletons. She surveyed the surrounding area to make sure there was no one around, then stretched and pushed herself up against the trunk against which she had slept. Lenora threw her supplies to the ground first. Then she crouched and nimbly dropped nearly twice her height, rolling upon hitting the ground. She came out of the maneuver, rising to her feet gracefully, despite the limp that followed.

In an effort to remain calm before exploring the fortress, Lenora drew her sword. When she fought, she thought of nothing. When she took a life, she hardly heard the clean slice of the blade as it cut through the body of her foe. When she held her sword before her, her mind was clear and empty. Long years of training had turned the actions she learned into pure instinct. The blade become only a silver blur, glinting sunlight onto the watching leaves. She felt no pain as she stepped lightly yet awkwardly into stances that bespoke of experience, her perfect movements forever flawed. For many minutes she sparred with imaginary swordsman, triumphed over them, and finally was victorious.

Then, as suddenly as she had begun, she swung the sword in a wide arc as if taking down an enemy and stopped. Sweat dripped from her brow, her muscles trembled; yet she felt rejuvenated and perfectly composed. Should she face the Ra'zac in her attempt to collect the last dragon egg of all Alagaësia, she was ready and willing to cut them down as easily as she had to so many of her enemies before. Unlike any of the humans she had fought, these creatures would outmatch her strength and speed, making the use of technique crucial to her survival. Stepping out of the low, formidable stance, she sheathed the sword and slung the bow and quiver across her back.

Helgrind, Lenora soon decided, seemed impenetrable. She had patrolled the perimeter, observing the intimidating peaks for imperfections though none marred its imposing black surface. Perseverance, however, had always been one of her strengths and she had never given up. As she lifted a hand, about to touch the smooth rock structure, a noise caused her to snap back. The approaching thrumming of massive wings had met Lenora's ears with such familiarity, that she thought Galbatorix had already found her. She scanned the skies, quickly spotting a black speck in the distant sky. Cursing, she threw up mental barriers, shielding her mind with the strength of a magician and hobbled as quick as her bum leg would allow into the cover of the foliage she had occupied the night before.

Peeking through the leaves, she soon noticed the dragon to be a brilliant azure, which carried two riders upon its back.

_Eragon and Saphira, _Lenora realized. _But who is the other rider?_ Though she had never advocated the ways of the Empire, she had also never genuinely known the values of the Varden's Rider. What she had always heard were the biased views of her father, who wanted Saphira solely due to the fact that she was the last remaining female dragon in existence. What Lenora had wrestled from Murtagh were the reminiscent views on a younger brother who she knew, beneath the tough-love façade, he sincerely wished he were there to protect from the extending reaches of the King's shadows.

The dragon and riders circled Helgrind, apparently searching for a way inside. Evidently finding themselves in much the same predicament, they hung in place for a moment before Saphira managed to land her massive bulk on a pinnacle. The base beneath her promptly began to crumble and she thrust out her wings for balance. Too far to make out the details of the three, Lenora was caught off-guard when Saphira launched herself straight through the mountainous wall. Blinking, she stared again and realized it was not a trick.

_Magic,_ she quickly realized. _How could I have missed that?_

Before she was able to disjoint herself from the hiding spot, she distinctly heard the roar of a dragon and a great fight going on within the fortress. Pulling the hood of the cloak over her head and unsheathing her sword, she approached Helgrind, not knowing what she would be met with. Pausing slightly before the magical barrier, she then thrust herself through, brandishing her sword before her.

Lenora leapt wildly to her left as the huge, blue spiked tail of Saphira flew over her head, clearly with the intention of attack. From her position on the white-scored floor, she took a quick glance at the rest of the room. Apart from noticing the fetid smell of old meat, she saw one man wielding a large hammer as he battled the smaller Ra'zac. A gash ran across his face and another down his forearm, which bled down the handle of his weapon. Still, he fought strongly and with a vengeance in his wild eyes, swinging the hammer before him like a deadly mace. His teeth bared as he retaliated against the creature, sparks flying from the clash of hammer and claw. She would have thought this to be the rider but for the choice of weaponry. Then what caught her attention was the crumpled form of Eragon on the floor, coughing dryly. Saphira, having believed Lenora to be unconscious or simply not as imminent a threat as the attacking beasts, stood above her rider, snarling at the Ra'zac which had unsheathed its foot long blade and tried to defend itself against her razor sharp teeth and claws. A huge black Lethrblaka had been thrown against the wall, blood running from four straight grazing marks down its haunch, a wing torn through. The creature trembled in pain.

Eragon grasped his sword, rolling to his feet. Drawing the blade, the sound rang in the cave, echoing eerily around them.

"Saphira! I'll take the Ra'zac, you take the Lethrblaka," he said aloud, his voice slightly hoarse. Lenora knew they had their minds blocked in order to avoid an invasion by these creatures that would destroy their minds and leave them vulnerable. As Eragon began a series of complex, lightening fast maneuvers to evade the Ra'zac's blows, Saphira swiveled around and faced the Lethrblaka that lay against the wall. Seeing the dragon approaching, it stood again and lowered its naked head, crouching down. Swiping at her, but not really trying to attack, it seemed almost defenseless. Saphira pulled up, slightly confused. Then Lenora saw what was going on. More clicks surrounded the cavern, and the second Lethrblaka leapt from the shadows at Saphira's exposed neck. Lenora knew what she had to do and launched herself from the floor and met the gigantic bat-like animal midair, her sword stuck firmly in its heart. The Lethrblaka fell to the ground atop her. She stifled a painful yell as it jolted her leg, and pulled herself out from underneath the body. She watched as the Ra'zac that Eragon fought took the opportunity to turn and run through the cave toward the darkened passageway. The Ra'zac disappeared into the pitch-blackness, to where no one knew.

Saphira's pain-stricken roar caught Eragon's attention before he could aid his cousin with the smaller Ra'zac and he turned toward her, holding his side as the pain reverberated through their mental link. The second Lethrblaka had taken these distractions to lunge for Saphira when she had not been paying attention and had sliced three deep gouges into her side. Himself bleeding slightly from shallow slices on his arms, Eragon ran towards her. Lenora rose unsteadily from the ground as he neared, intent on protecting the dragon from further harm. Eragon saw her and wheeled, thoughts ranging through his mind. In the turmoil, he instantly saw another individual as an ally to the Empire and attacked. Saphira could hold her own with the Lethrblaka for a while, but another surprise attack could prove disastrous. Saphira noticed the rider's actions, desperately trying to contact him to tell him this was not another enemy while fighting the creature.

_Eragon! _She scolded as she swiped the Lethrblaka in the face with five razor sharp claws, _he has just saved my life, do not continue to attack! _But her pleadings went unheard as the strong mental barriers stood between his mind and her words.

Lenora had been prepared for the attack; an unexpected visitor would probably not be trusted in such a situation as this. She took a step, limping backward at first to show she meant no harm. Eragon noticed the hobble and swung his sword for her crippled leg. As she blocked the attack, her mind blurred with memories of the sparring sessions she had had with her father, during which he would attack her with as much vengeance as she. Her weakness had always been anger. Unbridled fury rose to the surface, shining bright in her eyes. She too had succumbed to the chaos of the fight and soon forgot whom she was fighting. She met his sword in the middle of the attack, countering it with several intricate maneuvers of her own. He parried the blows with as much strength, but his movements were slightly slower, and though skilled, showed the reality of only two years of swordplay experience. Using this to her advantage, she limped forward, pushing him back. His eyes betrayed a slight surprise for he had met none with the ability to counter his new elven-like movements so efficiently. He tried to attack her mind but she stabbed his consciousness fiercely and he recoiled. He opposed her superior techniques with those he remembered from Ellesméra. Their blades clashed, ringing shrilly through the cave. She was gaining ground on him, yet had completely forgotten she fought the Varden's rider. His actions reminisced of Murtagh, equally knowledgeable and difficult.

The second Ra'zac appeared again, communicating furiously to its brother, holding something in a bundle beneath its arm. The Lethrblaka jumped at Saphira, and approached the Ra'zac, which climbed onto its back as another series of clicks echoed through the cave. The smaller Ra'zac looked toward its kin for an instant and the hammer fell solidly upon its head, cracking the skull and killing it instantly.

The Lethrblaka let loose an ear splitting screech that filled the cave, driving the three humans to their knees where they covered their ears and writhed from the pain. Blood trickled from Lenora's ears. Saphira swung her head, trying to escape the noise. In an effort to stop the blaring scream, she lashed out with her tail towards the creatures, severing the arm of the Ra'zac with a razor-sharp spike. The action did no good as the Ra'zac too, let loose a painful scream of its own as the Lethrblaka spread its wiry wings and prepared for flight.

Unnoticed by anyone but Lenora, the limb that had fallen to the floor had been holding a bundle. Despite that pain that felt like it tore her head in two, she reached out and pulled the cloth towards her, unraveling its contents. An emerald egg rolled smoothly onto the floor in front of her, white veins webbed across the surface. Suddenly, a blast of fire raged over their heads, breaking her concentration. Mystified and victorious, she took the distraction to pick up the surprisingly light egg and place it carefully into an inside pocket in the cloak as the screeching stopped.

The Lethrblaka launched itself from the floor to escape Saphira's white-hot flames. She continued to spew the fire until they had left, though the Ra'zac glanced back before departing, knowing it had dropped a most valuable item. Slowly, Lenora rose to her feet, but a desperate _slytha!_ was all she heard before unconsciousness took her and she fell into the blackness again.

The flames quieted and Saphira looked toward her rider and the downed swordsman. This mysterious cloaked man had saved her life, crippled though he was. Then he had fought so viciously towards Eragon that she did not know what to believe on his loyalties. Did he stand for the Empire, as he had fought with the Varden's rider; or did he support the Varden, due to the fact that he had saved Saphira? Eragon rose from the floor slowly, holding his hand before him where the gedwëy ignasia shone brightly from the magic. He lowered the barriers surrounding his mind now that the enemy was either gone or unconscious.

Saphira contacted him. _Eragon, this man has slain one of the Lethrblaka, saving me from its deadly blow. When you attacked him, I tried to contact you yet your mind was shielded from me. He is an even better fighter than Murtagh; do you suppose he's from the Empire? Only Galbatorix and the elves possess such knowledge of swordplay. _

_In the midst of the fighting I did not even know I had shielded my mind. Since the Agaetí__ Blödhren__ I have fought with no one so proficient with the blade. With the way he fought me, I would believe him to be with the Empire. His mind was so shielded that I could not break through its walls. I never saw his face for it was darkened by the hood of his cloak…_He approached Lenora where she had fallen, her hand still clutching the hilt of her sword. He grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over, pulling the hood back as he did so.

_A woman! _He exclaimed, _none but Arya equals her skills of the sword. She is not even an elf yet her speed outmatches my own! The technique she used was amazing, I would have never guessed. _

Roran approached them, holding his head. "I've forgotten how powerful that noise was. Is this the intruder you were fighting? Pity you had to kill her, she might have been able to help with the skills I glimpsed."

"She's not dead, only unconscious. You fared well with the Ra'zac I see. Your fighting has improved greatly since our tussles in Carvahall."

"Aye. Come, we must find Katrina," Roran said. Addressing Lenora, he said simply "She will not go anywhere while we are gone."

"Still…" Eragon said before taking a strip of cloth from the pack on Saphira's saddle and tied the woman's wrists together behind her back. _Malthinae,_ bind.They turned and headed for the passageway.

They entered the tunnel cautiously, ready for another attack but from what they didn't know. Saphira followed behind, scanning the darkness. Eragon's sharp vision could not pick up anything in the inky blackness. The murmurs grew louder as they went deeper into the abyss. The stench of decomposing flesh grew steadily stronger until it was almost hard to breathe without choking.

"I noticed magical barriers surrounding this tunnel before that only the Ra'zac could pass through," Eragon said curiously, breaking the eerie silence and causing Roran to flinch. "The Ra'zac do not use magic but it seems the barrier has disappeared along with them."

"That would be to protect the prisoners?" Roran asked quietly.

"Perhaps something more…" Eragon replied before muttering _Garjzla, _directing a patch of light from his palm into the tunnel before them. He swept the light onto the wall, and his heart jumped and Roran gasped.

The light fell through the bars of a cell, spilling onto a skeleton which slumped towards the floor but whose hands still hung from iron clasps on the wall. Ragged strips of clothes and bits of flesh and hair still clung to the bones as empty sockets stared through them.

Stunned by the scene, Eragon shone the light around them, revealing the gruesome sight of multitudes more prisoners who had met their bleak fate in the bowels of the fortress.

"Is one of these Katrina?" Roran asked beside him, his voice much higher than usual.

"Nay. I still feel another living being within these cells. She still lives," Eragon replied quickly, not at all as confident as his voice sounded.

_Murderers…_ Saphira said.

"Let's move on. I believe Katrina is near," he said, pulling Roran's forearm to break the stare he had fixed on one of the skeletons.

Averting their eyes from the surrounding cells, they came to the end of the passageway to where two new tunnels forked off from the main dungeon.

"You take the right, I'll go left. Keep your mind open, there are no enemies left here." Roran nodded his acknowledgement and took off down the tunnel. Eragon and Saphira proceeded down the left tunnel.

_It leads to a single cell,_ Saphira said, her eyes still keener than Eragon's.

_She's in there,_ he said, the moaning coming directly from the cell. They approached the door, and peered through the small barred window. Inside sat a woman, so badly mistreated he could not be sure it was her. "Katrina?" He asked softly. The young woman's head snapped towards him. Her eyes bloodshot squinting from the light he shone on her face. "Roran, is that you?"

"Katrina, it's Eragon. Roran is here, he's coming. Are you alright?"

"Eragon! I thought we would never see you again after you left that day. I'm ok. Is Roran doing alright? How did you find me? How did you get past the Ra'zac?"

"Roran will explain everything. Let me free you." _Roran,_ _we have found Katrina. Come to the end of the left tunnel. She's alright!_

_Thank the gods, Eragon. I will be there shortly. Naught but an empty room at the end of this tunnel._

Drawing his energy from deep within his exhausted body, he found his magic again. _Marmul._ The door creaked open, and he strained to pull it back. Saphira hooked her claws against the door and pulled, the hinges breaking against the force.

Ignoring the stench of the tiny cell, he walked towards her slowly, raising his gedwëy ignasia to her shackles. _Jierda!_ They clattered to the floor and Katrina's arms hung limp next to her. She looked at him questioningly, wondering how he had performed magic. Saphira snaked her head inside, lifting her lip and exposing her teeth at the smell. Katrina screamed, pushing herself against the wall.

"It's ok!" Eragon reassured her, kneeling down beside her. "Katrina, let me introduce you to Saphira, my dragon."

_Greetings Katrina. I am honored to meet Roran's mate, _Saphira said genuinely.

Katrina flinched but stayed calm. As with most people who had never been in the presence of a dragon, she replied aloud. "I too am honored to meet you, Saphira. I have never met a dragon before." She turned to Eragon. "You're a rider? And you look like an elf now, what happened?" she exclaimed. Eragon marveled at how much better she looked than she had when he had scryed her. Certainly Galbatorix knew they would not come so willingly had she been dead. The trap had been foiled, the Ra'zac gone.

"Aye. A long story, but one I must tell you later. Here comes Roran," he said, several seconds before rapid footsteps were heard and Roran rushed into the room.

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So I received only one review and a fave on the last chapter (thanks padfootROX), but I don't hold it against you guys since most of it was not my own writing anyway. But PLEASE review from now on, it keeps me inspired to write further.


	10. Stranger

**Chapter 9-Stranger**

Lenora jerked awake to the sound of a crackling fire and soft voices. She sat propped against a tree, her hands tied firmly behind her back and her feet bound together. Her head throbbed dully, probably the result of hitting the cave floor. Before allowing her companions realize she was awake, she tried to listen to their conversation to determine perhaps why the Varden's Rider had been at the Gates of Death. She had learned from her long years within the castle that eavesdropping was one of the most effective ways of obtaining a general goings-on around her.

To her disappointment, the only thing she heard was the mysterious words of the ancient language, "Atranosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya," let us be warded from listeners. Murmurs ensued, but without the aid of magic, she was unable to hear more. They must have seen her wake. Clearly, they didn't trust their captive any more than she trusted them. It was only when she heard the rustling of blankets and supplies that she knew they had settled down for the night. A great dragon sigh confirmed her suspicions and she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings.

The camp was hidden in a clump of trees much like she had been in the night before but Helgrind lay perhaps a half-league away. The fire crackled in the middle of a trio of sleeping human forms on the ground and the unmistakable bulk of a dragon directly across from where Lenora sat. She didn't know who the woman was but assumed, from the battered look to her appearance, she might be a survivor from Helgrind who the two had rescued.

The first thing Lenora did when she knew no one was awake was check that the egg still sat in the pocket of her cloak. The bulge was gone, the egg taken. She struggled to remain calm; anger in a situation as hers did her no good. Feeling completely vulnerable, she started to pull her hands over her head. Coming to a hitch where she had to dislocate her shoulder in order to complete the task, she squeezed her eyes shut and quickly disjointed the bone from the socket and managed to pull her hands in front of herself. Ignoring the pain, she then stuck her hand into her boot to use her dagger to cut the binding. The knife was also absent.

_Damn, _she thought. _At least he's not an idiot…_She proceeded to bite at the leather strap, tearing at it with her teeth to little avail.

"That won't do you much good," a voice said, startling her from her task. She looked up at Eragon who stood above her, arms crossed. The fire behind him made him appear almost a silhouette. "It's been magically bound." Anger flashed momentarily across her visage before she calmed. "Now that you are our own personal captive, might you wish to reveal your secrets as to why you were in Helgrind with the Ra'zac?" She remained stoically mute. "I thought not. I see you cannot perform magic. Why is it that you handle the sword as if you were trained by the King himself yet you know nothing of the Ancient Language and the power it possesses?" Lenora mused at the irony of his comment but said simply

"Why don't you untie me before the interrogation? I'm not a horse to be hobbled."

The corners of Eragon's lips twitched in a very slight grin as he had managed to get her to talk. "And how will I know you won't gallop away as soon as I 'un-hobble' you?"

"Does it look like I can run?" she asked sarcastically. "I wouldn't get to the edge of the camp before I'd be overtaken."

"So you say. However, we saw what you are capable of…" he said. He looked her straight in the eyes, a gesture she returned in like. "If one of us is unable to restrain you if you escape, Saphira will take care of your retrieval. And no weapons."

She rolled her eyes, holding her hands out toward him pointedly.

"Jierda," he said, and the leather straps snapped cleanly from her limbs.

She sat where she had been placed. "Leg," she said in explanation, indicating the broken bones. Assumed unarmed and therefore harmless, he offered her a hand, which she took hold of and used to pull herself up while smoothly twisting the arm before he could react until she had pinned his bent arm against his back, placed a foot on the inside of his knee and shoved him to the dirt. While she would have been able to hold him there using naught but two fingers, using the weakness of the wrist to create pain whenever he struggled, she held the pressure to gain more leverage over him. He grunted gruffly but his position made it impossible to move.

"What are you do—" he started to say. The commotion had woken Saphira who raised her head and began to rise, eyes steady on Lenora.

"Where is it?" she hissed. "I know you have it. Tell me where you hid it!"

"The egg? Where the blazes did you find it?"

"I think it's you who should be answering the questions, rider; you're not in the best situation right now. Tell me where it is or I snap it," she threatened.

"You realize I can just mend—"

"Tell me!" she shouted, waking Roran and Katrina. As she saw Roran pick his hammer from the ground and begin to approach out of the corner of her eye, she felt threatened and added pressure, making Eragon gasp in pain. This was the wrist he had broken less than two years previously. A hot gust of breath blew her hair from her face and she looked up into rows of teeth glinting from the firelight, Saphira's eyes glaring daggers into her as she growled deep in her throat, inches from Lenora's face. She didn't flinch but let off the pressure slightly.

_Get her off me! _Eragon said.

_I do not believe even I would be quick enough to do so before she had broken your wrist. She may be malicious, but all she desires is the egg. She won't be able to steal it, and what immediate need do we have for it ourselves? It takes much more than a few days to find a rider. She has as much right to it as we do. Tell her where it lies. _Saphira spoke to him.

"All right! Search the saddlebags, it's buried there," he said. She saw the molded leather saddle on the ground across the camp, the bags beside it. Taking an almost mocking glance at Saphira, she held Eragon's wrist while she maneuvered about him, keeping his body between herself and his dragon. Then, she let go and Eragon whipped his arm back around, massaging the wrist as he rose from the dirt. Lenora limped over to the bags, and lowering herself to the ground on her left leg, she began furiously digging through the objects in the bags, not caring what the others did. Two tunics, a loaf of bread and a bundle of berries littered the ground before she revealed the magnificent emerald egg, not dulled in the least from being stuffed into the sack and buried beneath many an item. Firelight danced across its surface, reflecting an orange glow onto her triumphant face.

Ignoring the stony faces of her companions, she tucked the egg under her left arm and walked over to the nearest tree and rammed her right shoulder into the trunk, popping the joint back in place. She rotated it around, satisfied.

"You held me there using a dislocated shoulder?" Eragon asked incredulously.

She snorted, looking at him. "You know little of pain, rider. It can easily be overcome when the need is great enough." Though he sincerely knew pain like few others, he still pondered the inferences of her statement as she sat down near the fire, warming her hands while the egg sat quietly on her lap. The rest took their places warily across from her.

"That is how you fight so well with that limp," he said. She gave no acknowledgement of his comment. "What is it with you?" Eragon asked suddenly. "You show up out of nowhere, save Saphira's life, and then fight me numerous times as if you had a motive to kill!"

_Careful Eragon, we don't want to anger her,_ Saphira reminded him.

Her eyes narrowed. "It was _you _who attacked _me _after I saved your dragon Most of those unfortunate souls who cross blades with me do not survive. Consider yourself lucky, rider, that you sit here talking with me now. Saphira lies here with you tonight due to my actions and I expect you to recognize that little fact before you dare to accuse me of my implications. I answer only the questions I choose to, and no more."

Slightly sobered, Eragon began again. "Then tell us stranger, why you have spared our lives. Was it only the egg you sought or was it something more?"

Stroking the egg lightly with a finger, she told them in a detached tone "I do not wish to kill the rider of the Varden. I came to find the egg, but too, I came to hear your story. I have lived a…sheltered life, and wish to listen to your accounts from the source itself before I continue further."

Roran, who had been listening to the conversation with Katrina, interjected angrily. "Why would he tell you his own history when we know nothing of you ourselves? For all we know, you could be a spy for the Empire or a warrior come to befriend the Varden's Rider before taking his life when he least expects it."

"Smart," Lenora mused. "Enware malabra ono né haina," because I mean you no harm, she said smoothly, watching with satisfaction as all four of them were surprised by the words Murtagh had taught her before leaving the castle. "But I will fight when I feel necessary. I suggest you do not underestimate my abilities even with this…handicap."

"So the tricks keep coming," Eragon said. Settling on a decision he proposed an idea. "Tell you what. We duel. Whoever wins gets to tell the other what they wish to know."

While Roran talked to Eragon in an urgent undertone about the costs of such a proposal, she mulled over the idea, weighing the consequences herself. He could ask about her parents, he could find out about Galbatorix. She simply couldn't allow them to know her secrets—it was all she had left. She would not let him pry the information from her; she would not let him win.

"Alright rider, we have a deal. But in the morning; I believe you should rest before the big fight," she smirked. "Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake-I've never run from a fight."

"But we do not even know your name!" Katrina said, almost kindly.

"Nor I yours. Of what importance is it to you?" Lenora said callously. Katrina looked offended and turned away toward Roran.

"I will stay up and keep watch," he said. "Get your rest, love." Lenora took in the interactions between them, now coming to the conclusion that these two had a history of their own. It didn't take much to figure out what she needed to know, but tomorrow would enlighten her limited knowledge of the three when she won. As the rest returned to sleep, Roran sat opposite the fire, the light creating dark shadows on his face as he watched her, untrusting, unknowing and suspicious.

Lenora retreated to the tree furthest from them and sat, leaning once again against the rough trunk. The bark crackled as she settled, stretching her leg out awkwardly. She tried to trace one of the silvery lines on the shell of the egg, thinking of the dream she had had that woken her from her magic-induced coma.

The dream was vivid, so unlike those she normally had. It was one she had relived so many times she decided to stop counting. In it, she saw her mother.

_A young woman with soft brown hair stood illuminated in the gentle light from a castle window, her face in her hands. Her shoulders rocked with sobs. A noise caused her to jump slightly and she whirled around, her golden gown swinging about her. She wiped the tears from her face, which held more lines than seemed fit for someone as young as she was. A dark bruise encircled one eye. The wooden door to the room burst open, and a man walked through. He wore a blood red and black cloak, studded boots and thick protective clothing-a rider. His black hair flowed behind him, falling to his shoulders as he came to a halt. His features were handsome and chiseled, but in his eyes there lived a dark madness just beginning to show. The young Galbatorix. The woman stood as tall as she could and raised her head to meet the King. _

"_Shruikan has informed me that he saw you in the servants quarters today, Anne. What would you be doing down there?" he said in the same sinister voice he used with Lenora. _

"_Your dragon is mistaken, love. I have not conversed with the servants beyond what is necessary," her mother said confidently. Lenora knew she lied and admired her courage. _

"_Do not lie to me," Galbatorix threatened, grasping Anne's arm roughly, keeping her from pulling away. "I can dig through your head in no time and figure out what you were up to down there. Tell me now or I will take the answers from your mind."_

_She spoke quietly, terrified. She knew the pain he could inflict upon her in a moment of anger. "Galbatorix, I fear you've changed. Remember our first days together? You, the majestic rider, and me, the lonely shopkeeper. That day when you gave me the gift of long life so we could live out our days together forever? Remember when we would fly together on Miremel and love each other every day. Do you remember those days? Everything changed when she died."_

"_I told you _never _to say her name again," he said, shaking her. "So I have changed. We all change. What of it?"_

"_You are not the man I fell in love with anymore. You hurt Lenora, you kill those who anger you, you ride a stolen dragon, you take part in the slave trade, you torture the servants—"_

"_So you have been talking with them! Have they been telling you all of my secrets? You think they tell you the truth?" he dared her to answer._

"_I see the truth of what I'm told in the way Lenora acts toward you. She knows you won't hesitate to hit her, to do what you do to me. She sees the bruises, she sees the pain and knows she's not far behind!"_

"_That child is not my problem. You can't handle her? Perhaps we should just get rid of her. She'd make a good slave."_

_Her mother gasped, tears rolling down her face again. "How can you be so heartless? You used to love us. You were a different person. We're leaving, Galbatorix, we're leaving the castle."_

"_No, Anne. You will not leave. You would go tell my subjects the twisted lies you have come up with. You will not leave this castle," he said before a strange word sliced through the air and caused her mother to shudder and fall, dead before she hit the floor. Four-year-old Lenora rushed from the washcloset where she had been watching to the still form of her mother, only to be thrown across the room by a powerful magical force. _

"_Girl! Go to your quarters. Tell no one of this or you will be next." Tears streaming, she ran blindly out the door and the dream ended._

Her mother had been one of those special people who could see the good in everyone. She had been so bold that day to confront Galbatorix yet it had only led to the worst outcome. Her mother was a kind, unique individual who had loved her daughter with all her heart until the day she was killed. A tear rolled down Lenora's cheek. She wiped it away angrily. She couldn't remember the last time she had let go. It was going to be a long night.

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Thanks to dragon of twilight, padfootROX, redfeatherz, First Gurl Rider and Syreni for their reviews, and everyone for the adds and faves on the last chapter. I made up the word for "because" in the ancient language, but besides that, the words are Paolini's creation. Tell me what you thought of this chapter, all comments and suggestions are welcome, just click the little button down there…


	11. Resurgence

**Chapter 10-Resurgence**

A batlike creature stood next to its cloaked companion before Galbatorix in the great hall. It's rasping breath penetrated the air, reeking of fetid meat. The Ra'zac held its stump of an arm, refusing to meet the eyes of the king.

"We have failed you, my liege…" the Ra'zac began cautiously. "We waited for the prisonerssss but they did not arrive." Galbatorix's brow furrowed in anger, but it was possible to call in new reserves shortly. "One the day they were to come, the blue dragon and rider came and fought ussss."

"That was part of the plan," Galbatorix said suspiciously. "Why do they not lie before me in chains?"

"There wasss another, my king. The cousssin from Carvahall, my king. He fought ussss with a hammer. He killed my brother. The dragon…the dragon ssssliced off my arm. I dropped the egg. The dragon hassss learned to breathe fire, we could not turn back!"

Shruikan roared angrily, causing the creatures to cringe and step back. "Fools! Do you realize the severity of your mistake? You have doomed Alagaësia, you have destroyed the Empire. You will pay for your actions!"

"Wait! There wassss another, a massster swordsssman he wassss, with a limp like hissss leg wassss broken. He killed my mother and fought the rider."

Galbatorix paused, thinking. He located the guard in charge of his most valuable prisoner in an instant. _Come to the great hall immediately,_ he ordered. His servants were not allowed to answer mentally.

Minutes later, the guard came striding into the hallway, bowing low to the king. A shadow of fear crossed his features-no one answered to the king directly in his position.

"How can I be of assistance, my king?" he asked, voice strained.

"Where is the prisoner you are assigned to?" Galbatorix demanded.

"In her cell, my liege. I have just brought down food," Teron said innocently.

_You, _Galbatorix said, contacting one of the guards that stood at the doors to the great hall. _Go to the lowest level in the dungeons, to the last cell on the left. Tell me if the prisoner remains where she should. _

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Murtagh felt the tension from Thorn reverberate through him. His resolve faltered slightly; Thorn had always been a rock, his steadfast companion on whom he could rely even when his own emotions were too strong to hold back. It was a rare occasion when Thorn was anything but sound and supportive.

_There isn't any way he could figure out it was us, could he? _Murtagh asked.

_We will only know once he has completed his thorough examination of our minds. Because we did not do anything physically to aid in her escape, perhaps he will not figure it out. However, there is still a possibility…_the rumbling voice trailed off and Murtagh felt his blood chill. The echoing silence of the tunnels was broken by the clack of his dragon's claws on the hard stone floors.

Suddenly, he was back days before, reliving the pain of their return. Thorn landed heavily in the courtyard as the sun hit the horizon, met with one of the king's many minions. The young man kept one eye on Thorn as he approached Murtagh cautiously, bowing to the rider after he had dismounted. His gaze stayed on Murtagh's boots.

"The King w-wishes see you in the Great Hall, R-Rider," he stuttered. Murtagh could see he desperately wished to distance himself from the dragon.

"You may tell Galbatorix we will be there shortly," he said to the lad as easily as he could. With another quick bow, the boy turned and rushed from the dragon and rider into the dark caverns of the castle. Misty breath streamed from Thorn's nostrils and Murtagh shivered. Frost crunched on the grass beneath their feet.

_This is madness. He could kill us before we could get in a single word! _Murtagh said desperately as they approached certain pain.

_Do not lose heart, Murtagh. We will go through whatever faces us together, _Thorn replied.

_Was that supposed to make me feel better?_

_Apparently it didn't work, _Thorn said. Look, _he needs us and he knows it. He will not kill his only rider and dragon. We will survive._

Silence ensued as the two thought about what lay ahead. No good could come from outright defying the king. Murtagh had found that Galbatorix was clever and completely creative in his torture so he would never know what new surprises he might endure in the coming hours.

It was all for Eragon. It had cut him to the core when Eragon had looked at him with such mistrust and hurt in his eyes. His own brother tried to kill him. As much as Murtagh had hidden the pain behind a mask of anger, inside he felt as if someone had carved a piece from his heart. Eragon was the only one who had shown him they cared for his well being at all. When he had been taken after the battle at Farthen Dûr, he worried for Eragon every day with his wounded back. Murtagh had tried to scry him but was met time and time again with nothing but empty blackness. He had felt it necessary to not give any indication of the care he felt for his brother when they had fought at the burning plains so Eragon would not consider attempting to free Murtagh from Galbatorix's clutches, an endeavor met with a certain death. He wished Eragon and Saphira to hate him and Thorn. He wanted them to believe they were the corrupted rendition of the Forsworn until the day he could be released from his bindings and once again fight alongside the Varden and those he cared for.

They came to the doors to the Great Hall and Murtagh caught a glimmer of fear from the impressions of some of the guards. The King was not pleased with his actions. Feeling the quiet resolve of his dragon, calmly he walked through the doorway to their fate, Thorn beside him.

As soon as the tall wooden doors had shut behind them, Murtagh faintly heard Thorn's roar as the implacable mind of the King painfully invaded their thoughts and dug through their memories as callously as possible. Even the years of training and mental preparation could not shield his mind from the power of Galbatorix. Though accustomed to the action, Murtagh still felt the anguish overcome his senses and drown out all other notions of his surroundings as he screamed, falling to his knees on the floor. Thorn's roar became so distant it was unrecognizable through the haze of pain.

_Where are they? Why have you not brought them to me?_ The cold words of the King intercepted his cries. He could not answer. The pain was the only thing he could feel, the sole thing that existed in him, his whole being. He saw Galbatorix shifting through his memories of the fight with Eragon at the plateau, taking in every detail and word said. He went through the thought process and the feelings of the rider during the fight. Suddenly, a slight resistance came into his consciousness. Murtagh became vaguely aware of Thorn's mental barriers shielding his most incriminating information from the fight when Murtagh had admitted he had only tried to capture Eragon and Saphira and thus was unsuccessful. In his unbidden fury, the king miraculously glanced over this slight point as he continued to dig through Murtagh's mind. Murtagh didn't have the capability or the time to process this action before Galbatorix retreated from his mind and left Murtagh a crumpled form on the floor of the hall.

"They escaped! After all the training you have been through, all the years of preparation and when it comes to the true time to prove yourself, you fail! Why is it that you suddenly felt weak and were overcome with the abilities of the Varden's rider, letting them escape? This is not the way, Murtagh. You have been given a simple mission: the find and capture Eragon and Saphira. You were so close, yet you failed me. Had you only known what lay ahead, would you have been so powerless?" In his state, Murtagh had only heard half of what the King had said, yet the truth came to him: somehow, Galbatorix didn't know he had willingly let Eragon and Saphira free. Unable to reply, Murtagh opened his eyes to see the face of his ultimate enemy staring down at him.

"You dare to mock me with your silence? You think this is all a test. No Murtagh, sadly, this is real. This is a grave mistake you have made. Next time, you will not mess up, will you?" No reply came from the rider lying at the mercy of his master. Galbatorix's features contorted and he kicked the rider with his spiked boot. Murtagh let loose a cry, holding his caved-in ribs. He felt a hand grasp his throat and drag him to his feet, held only by the crushing strength of the King. Murtagh blearily looked into the enraged eyes of his captor.

"Maybe you don't deserve to live any longer. You have escaped from the castle, fought with the enemy and let the Empire down in its time of most dire need. I could add a little more pressure and you would not live to—" his words were cut off as he glanced over Murtagh's shoulder to see Thorn leaping for him. Murtagh's eyes widened as he saw Shruikan move with lightening speed to protect his rider, leaping over the humans to meet Thorn head-on in a crash of wings, claws and teeth. The crimson dragon fell to the floor where the gigantic black mass sliced at him with six-inch-long claws. The piteous roar struck a chord within Murtagh and he suddenly fought feebly against the power holding him.

Galbatorix cast the rider from him, the sickening crunch of bones against the floor not deterring him in the slightest as he continued to pound upon the broken body.

"You will someday learn," Galbatorix said between kicking the rider and the punches ensuing to his torso, "to follow my orders exactly as they are to be obeyed."

Galbatorix composed himself suddenly. Murtagh retched onto the floor before passing out.

Under an unheard order, Shruikan backed away from the bleeding remains of the dragon. "They must live. We can continue to use them to our needs, simply, much more carefully."

Galbatorix contacted several of his magicians and ordered them to remove the bodies to the rider's quarters to recover. No healing would be allowed.

Murtagh startled slightly at the light bump he felt on his back, bringing him back to the present time. He turned to the large head of Thorn behind him, one large eye looking into his own.

_Go. We cannot prolong the inevitable, _he said. _I will be right here. _Murtagh forced a smile for him, seeing the faint outlines of the scars on the crimson hide. Magic could only do so much. It had taken several days for the both of them to recover from that morning's torture, and Murtagh was not eager to repeat the process. The memories fresh in his mind, he shielded his mind as thoroughly as he could, Thorn doing the same. They entered the Great Hall as they had before to face the wrath of the king.

"Did you take part in Lenora's escape?" Galbatorix confronted them.

Without a moment's hesitation, Murtagh answered "No, my liege."

It took only an instant for the king to break past their mental barriers and begin sifting through their memories of the past few days. Murtagh could do nothing to hinder the process with which Galbatorix extracted every secret from their minds. The pain they both felt was not close to the extreme agony they had been through only shortly before. Miraculously, Murtagh found that his simple spell cast over the conversation he and Lenora had had in the dungeon worked. Had Galbatorix not been so overcome with the fury that distorted his every feature at that moment, he would have discovered this hidden secret that lay within Murtagh's consciousness. The occurrences between the two with Murtagh as the guard appeared not to have shown as the rider's doing, yet it did not escape the cunning mind of the king who it was that aided Lenora's getaway. It was impossible, however, to keep hidden the feelings Murtagh felt in his everyday life.

"Ah," Galbatorix stated lucratively, "so you have feelings for my daughter, rider?" Murtagh swallowed uncertainly.

Murtagh could not say anything against the statement.

_Keep your resolve,_ Thorn reminded him.

"Fine. You will go and find her." Inside, Murtagh's heart leapt. "But you will not defy my orders this time Murtagh. You will find Lenora, and you will not return to this castle until you have. Find her and kill her, Murtagh, no exceptions."

"But she is your daughter!" Murtagh protested, despite the dangerous consequences.

Galbatorix's voice lowered ominously. "She is a great threat to this Empire's welfare and I will not tolerate another backlash against my rule. If you return without her blood on your hands, you and your dragon will not live to see another day. Do I make myself clear, rider?" Murtagh nodded, knowing nothing would dissuade the king from his decision. As they left, he saw Teron lying dead in a pool of blood.

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A sincere apology for not posting a chapter last Friday and yesterday. My computer completely crashed and lost every last bit of my software (including five essays due that week), so I had to start all over on this chapter. Thanks to Syreni, Silver Mystic Storm, redfeatherz, padfootROX, deeya and dreamgirl555 for the reviews and everyone for the faves and adds. Review or I will leave you hanging…oh wait, I already did! Please review; a few short sentences will make my day and I always try to reply to every reviewer!


	12. Secrets

**Chapter 11-Secrets**

Her egg and dagger safely tucked in her tunic on the ground, Lenora faced her opponent in her black leather vest and breeches, long hair tied loosely back. Auburn strands fell around her face, emerald eyes watchful. Eragon had donned a clean elven tunic he wore for practice sparring and brown breeches.

"How will we know if you are speak the truth?" Eragon asked her as they prepared for the fight. She grinned slyly.

"You'll just have to trust me, won't you?" Watching him perform the blade-dulling spell on each sword, she added, "No magic during the fight, rider. Unfair advantage." Eragon nodded his consent, tossing her sword to her. Lenora caught it in the air, spinning it about her hand as she did before every fight. He drew his own again, but neither moved. Lenora watched his eyes, the most revealing aspect of the opponent when they prepared to strike. He stared back with as much daring as she presented. Then, a twitch in his demeanor and she beat him to the first move, attacking with the almost-inhuman swiftness that still dominated her movements despite the leg. Their swords clashed, Eragon's meeting hers before it contacted his shoulder. The shudder of metal on metal daunted neither. She could sense his surprise though he tried to cover it with his own speed. Lenora found that although she felt she could have bested him in Helgrind, his strength had returned from fighting the Ra'zac and his blade held more power than her own. She matched him in speed and executed more advanced technique, yet his agile movements worked against her.

Blade against blade, rider against outcast, the two fought hard, never giving up, never allowing the other side to gain the upper hand. Lenora fought not only against Eragon but also against the anger that she normally let loose to support her actions. Then as abruptly as the fight had begun, Eragon's elven strength overwhelmed Lenora's and he twisted her sword out of his way and brought his own to her throat. Lenora let no emotion through her mask of indifference.

"Ah ha," Eragon stated triumphantly, "first question: what is the name of the warrior I now fight?"

She scoffed at the inquiry. "You wasted your only chance with that question? Alright, it's Lenora." Eragon looked at her as if she were supposed to continue.

"Daughter of who?" he asked, as the surname was normally a part.

"I don't think so, rider. One question only," she countered. Lenora raised her sword, placing it between his own and her neck, shoving it from herself and in an instant, had swung her weapon until it touched his temple.

"Touché," he said, grinning. She gave him a sarcastic smile and narrowed her eyes. While the others knew she intended the rider no harm, Saphira watched her closely from across the camp, Roran and Katrina leaning against her side. "What would you like to know Lenora?"

"How did you acquire Saphira's egg?" she asked.

"I found it," he said without hesitation. "In the Spine." Lenora had learned from her many years within the castle how to tell when someone lied to her. Eragon's demeanor told her he had spoken the truth. So he had not been the one to steal the egg so many years ago. What had been his intent when he had discovered the egg? Surely a dragon wouldn't hatch for someone malicious.

She allowed Eragon to bring his sword up to meet hers and push the blade from his skull. He struck at her head and she maneuvered her sword to guide his past her ear while spearing her left hand to his throat in a clearly lethal action, stopping at the skin.

"I've been told you were a human. Do the other elves laugh at your rough features and your sluggish movements? Your actions are slower than that of a human's," she said to irritate him.

"The elves' magic is a mystery to me as well. And I'm only half, if you're wondering to the speed. I might just ask you where yours comes from," he responded from his vulnerable position, appearing annoyingly unperturbed by the comment.

"Perhaps if you become so fortunate as to win again." So he had spent time with the elves. A playful gleam came into his eye and they dueled again. So fast were their blades that at times, their audience could see only a blur of activity. Each fighter was trained to the same level of endurance and they waited for the other to slip up. Eragon took advantage of the second's hesitation when a twinge of pain caused Lenora to pause, to flip over her and land on the opposite side. She met his blade a fraction late and he overpowered her and pressed her own weapon to her body.

"Crazy half-breed," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. He chuckled slightly.

"Never get overconfident," he advised. "Now, next question: Where did you come from?"

"Uru'baen," she stated simply. She hoped he wouldn't connect her superior technique and origins to the castle. He did not try to investigate further, though of all the places she could have come from, that was the most suspicious.

They lowered their swords and backed up, searching again for an opening as each caught their breath. Eragon lunged for her and she parried the blows easily with the sword before her, the actions quick and precise. Her skill was more pure that his, Eragon having been thrown into a elven body he was not yet used to and still worked on the movements and strength to gain control over his actions. Once again, he tried to bring his sword to her head, but she ducked out of the way and came around his back, similar to what he had done moments before, pointing her blade to his chest as he swiveled around.

"Didn't I just hear something about being overconfident?" she asked coolly, cocking an eyebrow. "From who did you learn to fight?"

_The Ancient Language binds us to our secrecy on this, little one,_Saphira reminded him.

_Don't worry Saphira; my answers can be as evasive as hers,_ Eragon told her.

"I was privileged enough to be taught by the best there is in Alagaësia, learning through our travels and from many different sources."

"Well," she said frankly, "at least you have potential."

To retaliate for the comment, Eragon swung his sword to her injured leg and she blocked it, a flare of anger shining through her features. As they fought, he walked forward and pushed her back, causing her to stumble over the fire pit. On her back, she held her sword against his.

"Whose technique is better now?" he boasted with the sword pointed down towards her throat, "What happened to your leg?"

"A horse fell on it when I was fighting," she said, and twisted her wrist in a quick action that caused him to lose control of the sword as it was flung from his hands. "What's your excuse?"

The fight only fair, she dropped her sword pushed herself up into a fighting stance. It took only a fraction of a second before Eragon realized the fight was not over, as she threw a hook to his jaw. He blocked it and tried to counter, but she swiveled her body and his punch swept to the side. Their movements became quicker and more furious as the fight continued. Whenever he threw an attack, she countered with quick precision and threw one of her own. Eragon evaded the attacks only with the aid of his elven speed. His sparring sessions with Brom swirled in the back of his mind, the wooden staves, the morning bruises, the many defeats. He remembered a certain move his old mentor had taught him once when he had grown haughty and proud after finally making contact.

"What rider, never learned to fight without weapons?" she pestered, keeping up a steady flurry of attacks.

"Normally my fighting styles are not so crude as your own," he replied gruffly as he tried to keep pace with her fast hand movements.

"Amazing you have lasted this long," she said. Eragon's arms were beginning to sting and bruise from her actions, and he wondered how she generated the amount of power he felt. He saw the red marks of his own actions on Lenora's arms as well but she seemed to not notice. Noticing her movements were done in one spot in order to avoid straining her leg, he took the opportunity and swept her left leg from underneath her and sent her to the ground again.

"Who taught _you_ to fight?" he asked.

"I was condemned to the brutal lessons of the worst possible teacher who taught me more than any you may come across," she replied darkly. Her elusive answer was one Eragon intended to dig further into later. Despite the pain she felt, Lenora rose again.

"Eager for more?" Eragon asked, watching her rise.

"Are you?" she said. The sting through her leg began to cloud the corners of her rational mind as she faced him. She lunged towards him with a giveaway jab and threw a short punch to his stomach, which he caught and thrust an elbow to her exposed face. Lenora tried to maintain control to not hit him again as he had left himself open to attack. Clearly his best fighting style was not hand-to-hand combat. She saw the beads of sweat that ran down his face drip slowly onto his tunic.

"Where does your allegiance lie?" he asked firmly.

"Certainly not with the Empire," she snarled at him. Lenora could feel the anger on the surface, banging the bars of her self-control like a banshee screaming for freedom. Her leg ached horribly, causing her form to fall out of line. Eragon dashed about her, his movements fluid whereas hers were broken and awkward. Where once she would have done the same, now she stayed rooted to the spot and attacked him when he approached close enough, like a cornered animal. Nevertheless, he couldn't land any attack without receiving several in return.

Finally he took advantage of her weakness and braved her vicious attacks to try to grab her collar and control her. She had her hands between his arms in an instant, twisting to break his grip and shoved towards him, but fell forward because of the leg. He grasped the back of her vest and brought a knee an inch from her face, a clean win.

"What are you going to do with the egg?"

"What do you think? Wait for it to hatch," she said frankly. In all the years she had been at the castle, Galbatorix never once let her so much as see the dragon eggs, let alone touch them. A rider with the knowledge of magic and a motive to kill would prove nigh impossible to control.

As he let her go, the fury overwhelmed her judgment and she threw the pain to the back of her mind and let loose a war cry, moving against his actions and for once pushing him backwards. Her movements were swift and effective, some landing on their target but none so much as to cause much damage. Blind rage overtook her and she tried to throw a crescent kick to his head, as she had so easily been able to do not two weeks before, using her right leg to support the action. The limb buckled beneath the pressure, causing her to fall to the dirt in agony she refused to show to her rival. Her clothes were covered in dirt from previous falls. Eragon gazed down at her.

"Have you always had anger issues, or is it just me?" he asked jokingly. "You've thrown yourself to the ground without my help this time."

"Is that going to be your question?" she said from between clenched teeth.

"Nay. Who are your parents?" he said, offering her a hand up, knowing he had Saphira's strength if Lenora attempted to pull the same stunt as the night before. That being the final factor that sent her over the edge, she shoved herself from the ground, ignoring his gesture, and limped, worse than usual, to where her things lay. She jammed the tunic into one pocket of the cloak and the egg into another. Eragon let her be, knowing he could always ask again later when her mood had lightened.

As much as she wished to deny it, Eragon had proven himself the better fighter. She would never fight as she had before; she was exactly as her father had said: a worthless cripple. If only he had known the warrior she had been before, he would never dare to openly mock her! She remembered the sparring sessions with her father when she was nearly as proficient a fighter as he, and they dueled for hours on end without stopping until her arm grew leaden and the she could hardly lift her sword. More often than not, he would leave her with the worst of the injuries, but she had given back her fair share that bruised his skin through the mail. Murtagh's training sessions were less brutal unless the King was watching, but she was the faster either way. A longtime friend, Murtagh made an effort to teach her through example instead of making her fight for her life as Galbatorix did. Lenora knew his actions inside-out and could sometimes predict his movements before he had begun. Thorn's coughing laughter was often heard amid their backhanded comments.

"Let's get going," she said loudly, a slight rationale returning through the haze of pain and vehemence. "The Ra'zac may return. Pack your things, we'll head to Dras-Leona for horses."

"Since when did she become leader?" Roran asked, shoving the last of his supplies into one of the saddlebags.

"Since she gained back her weapons and threw a tantrum," Eragon snorted as he heaved the saddle and supplies onto Saphira's back. Katrina giggled.

_It seems our companion may need a few lessons in controlling her temper,_ Saphira commented, heaving herself up from the ground. _Oromis could teach her much._

_Aye. Whoever she learned to fight from must have been ruthless with her to create such a fighter. She stops neither for pain nor reason and if you anger her, she becomes all the worse and harder to fight. In all my experience from fighting, I have met none like her. _

Saphira snorted softly. _I shall stay close in case anything arises._

_If you feel it necessary, _Eragon said.

Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, Lenora lead the group, her pride scorned and disgrace fueling her gait. She pulled the egg from the cloak pocket; a crack snaked across the gleaming surface.

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I'm going to start doing a new chapter every two weeks now, school and work just don't allow for every week. Thanks to Syreni, Silver Mystic Storm, padfootROX, funnybunny2, First Gurl Rider and Caribbean Sundown for reviewing and everyone for the adds on the last chapter. Leave a review and I will update ASAP!


	13. Hatchling

**Chapter 12-Hatchling**

Lenora knocked an arrow on her bow, aiming through the foliage where she crouched. Using the tip of the arrow, she carefully pushed a leaf aside to more clearly see her quarry. Completely silent, she sat and waited. A leaf moved, the soft rustle of fur against plant. A rabbit jumped in the moonlight, sniffing the ground directly in her path. Ears perked forward, whiskers twitching madly, eyes wide for any danger. Picking up her scent, it froze, statuesque.

"Lenora!" The arrow speared through the air, a hairs-width from the rabbit that had startled and shot off into the darkness. She swore, having been sitting in wait for nearly half an hour. She straightened, hobbling through the foliage until the firelight shone onto her face.

"Alright Eragon, I know you did that on purpose; you and your pathetic berries. You're not-" she started to berate him as she stepped out into the clearing.

"It's hatching!" Katrina exclaimed, pointing to the egg, which lay bundled in Lenora's cloak near the fire. Dropping the bow and quiver of arrows, she rushed to the egg which had started emitting high-pitched squeaks and rocking violently. Kneeling, she uncovered it from the cloak, placing it on the ground before her. The rest surrounded her silently, Saphira's eyes holding an excitement and curiosity quite unlike the others. A thousand emotions ran through Lenora's mind as she watched the egg. Disbelief that her dreams had actually become a reality, pride in her accomplishment of turning the Empire's last hope upside down, a sense of foreboding of what responsibilities of being a rider would mean, doubt of whether the dragon would accept her for who she truly was, excitement of the possibilities it would bring. The crack deepened, extending its way through a vein until it broke apart and met another. The sound of claws scratching the surface of the casing, parting the fluids. A chip flew from the egg, landing in the fire and causing sparks to rise into the cool air. A strange chirrup, a flash of ivory spikes through the hole. Then the cracked egg shattered, sending shards across the ground.

Amid the remnants of the egg stood a small emerald dragon, shimmering against the dancing flames of the fire. Its audience gasped and even Saphira's eyes widened. Its proportions were different to Saphira's, the legs bulkier and the chest wider. A perfectly spaced row of ivory spikes ran from its head to its tail. The hatchling folded its bulky wings maladroitly to its sides. The claws kneaded the dirt edgily, its sinewy muscles bunching. Its tail twitched, fiery green eyes snapping towards Lenora. She froze, as the rabbit had done not moments before. This dragon had chosen her as its rider, but she still had the option to withdraw that responsibility. As a rider, she would be the determining element in the clash between the Empire and the Varden. She would be fought over until she took a side and supported one or the other. She could destroy or save Alagaësia, all it took was one touch.

She extended her hand toward the dragon as it watched her movements carefully. Then, as if drawn to her, it took a step forward and extended its neck until the palm of her hand came into contact with its head. Her expression changed from tenacity to anguish but she found she could neither move nor cry out. Paralyzed, unusual icy pain wound through her entire being, burning her blood and twisted its way into her mind where a separate consciousness remained once the sensation had dissipated. A flash of emerald seared her thoughts before the oblivion stole her from the night.

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Lenora woke to the soft morning light and chilly air, lying on a bedroll under a thin blanket. Her muscles were stiff and sore, skin stinging from the fight. Her leg was tender but the true pain from the exertion had lessened considerably. Instinctually, she reached to her belt to check for her weapons, but a strange sensation on her hand stopped her. She examined the slightly prickling silver oval on her palm before the events of the night rushed back to her. She sat up suddenly, looking around the camp for the hatchling.

"He's under the blanket," Eragon said, causing her to look at him where he sat on a log by the ash of the fire pit, watching her. She yanked the blanket away, revealing the curled up dragon beside her, which lifted its head blearily. It blinked its eyes up at her.

"The last dragon…" she whispered to herself. "I'm a rider." The dragon stretched, placing his small clawed feet before him and pushing forward, letting loose a squeaky yawn that revealed rows of snowy white serrated teeth and a forked tongue. Then it turned and looked towards her and she felt the presence again like a black hole waiting to be investigated. Cautiously, she extended her mind but the consciousness was eager and brushed against hers. She threw up barriers, blocking the presence momentarily. The dragon sat indignantly, perplexed, cocking its head to the side. She studied it.

"That's you, isn't it?" she asked it. The dragon tilted its head the other way, studying her words. Again, the presence gently touched her mind, asking to be let through the blockade. She lowered the walls and allowed the dragon to investigate. Excited, it leaped into her mind, a ravenous hunger pervading her other emotions. Though unused to the sensation of another in her mind, Lenora prevented the want to throw out the presence, and instead obliged to its wish.

"Too bad I didn't get that rabbit last night," she commented, "it's ravenous."

"He," Eragon corrected. "He is ravenous."

"How do you know?" Lenora asked, mesmerized by the gorgeous creature that now wandered across the camp towards the sleeping forms of Roran, Katrina and Saphira.

"The last dragon is a male. You didn't know that?" Eragon replied. The dragon sniffed the bundle, snuffling the blankets. Finding the sleeping Roran uninteresting, he climbed onto his back in order to near Saphira. Roran grumbled and turned over in his sleep, unaware. Surprised, the hatchling spread its wings and leapt, awkwardly gliding over Katrina and landing in a heap. He rose and shook himself, ruffling his wings and folding them to his sides again.

"I've not been told anything of the dragons beyond that one last egg remained," she said. The hatchling approached Saphira, sniffing her scales. He came around to her head, pulling his head back as a gust of breath blew his wings from his body, causing him to fly up into the air and fall back to the earth. Lenora stifled a snort of laughter, the antics of the hatchling were that of a child just learning to walk and who wanted to investigate the great new world. Shaking his head, he trotted up to Saphira again, placing his little paws on her cheek curiously. One of Saphira's large blue eyes opened, swiveling towards the hatchling. He leapt onto her head, oblivious to her realization, and Saphira's lips parted as she smiled, laughing slightly. The young dragon used the mounds of spikes on Saphira's head to keep from sliding off the slick scales. He attempted to climb along her neck and, as expected, slipped. Saphira shot her left wing underneath the dragon to let him fall softly onto the membrane before he hit the ground. Surprised, he looked towards her as she raised her head, squeaking excitedly when he realized she was awake. Saphira lowered him to the ground gently and he clambered off her wing. She stretched her head towards the hatchling slowly. He stood tall and proud, meeting the end of her nose with his own. A bright light formed between their snouts for an instant and disappeared. They drew apart and the hatchling trilled, leaping into the air and bounded to Lenora's lap. Roran and Katrina had woken from the flash of bright light, wondering what had occurred.

"What was that?" Lenora asked Eragon, surprised. She tentatively touched the dragon and when she determined he would not shock her again, she welcomed him.

"I don't know," he confessed. He contacted his dragon.

_Saphira, what just happened? _It took a moment for her to respond.

_I have given him the ability to grow with an increased rate than that of a normal dragon. He will now be a sufficient size when we face the Empire in the coming war._

_How can you be so sure she will be on our side? _Eragon asked cautiously.

_No dragon would hatch for someone who would willingly serve the King,_ she stated simply.

"What_ was _that?" Roran asked gruffly, sitting on his bedroll.

"The hatchling and Saphira have just met one another. Saphira gave him the gift of rapid growth so we will have a chance when we fight the Empire," Eragon said. Lenora realized they fully expected her to join the Varden, but she had not yet made a decision as how to proceed. She didn't argue the statement; she could always determine her allegiance later when she had been given more time to decide. The dragon's mind pressed against hers again, the hunger stronger this time.

"I almost forgot that he's hungry!" she said. "How am I going to hunt with a wild chirping hatchling along for the ride?"

_Nevermind, young one, _Saphira said calmly. _I need to hunt for myself. He can have some of my catch._ After informing Eragon, she stood and spread her massive wings. With one mighty flap, she was airborne and the concussion remained from her thrumming wings.

"Uhg," Katrina groaned, "that is not the best way to wake up."

Roran laughed, though he too shook his head from the massive sound. Eragon and Lenora were accustomed to the resonance and were not bothered. The dragon cuddled up to her stomach and she scratched his head softly. She felt a soft humming radiate from him, as if purring. She ran her fingers along his back and he pushed against her hand lovingly. She smiled, knowing that this dragon would be her companion and share her heart for the years to come. She would never be alone again, as she had been for most of her life.

"So what did it feel like?" Roran asked her suddenly. "When he shocked you."

She thought about the question. "Like the pain I have felt before but as if it came from my soul. It felt like something that had resided deep within me but just then decided to surface. A connection; a link to something beyond myself. I feel as if I have been destined to become a rider since the day I was born but only realized it when I touched the dragon."

"It feels like you have been completed. That small part of you that was never satisfied finally got what it deserved all of those years, even if it never really knew what that was. You are never alone or lonely. It's the strongest bond that exists and the hardest to break. Even before your dragon can talk, you can communicate because you know each other on another level of understanding," Eragon continued, knowing exactly what Lenora meant. "When you are away from one another, your heart feels ripped in two until you are together again. There is nothing like being connected as rider and dragon."

_And so, _Saphira contacted Eragon, having listened to the conversation, _I return as quickly as I left. _A blue speck hurtled toward them in the subtly colored clouds of the morning. She neared and they could see a doe hanging limp from her claws. Her wings wheeled backwards as she dropping her kill before landing in the clearing. _Excuse the sight, little one. _

_As long as I don't have to eat it, that's fine. A dragon's got to eat, _he told her. The hatchling raised his head, sniffing the air. His demeanor picked up and he crawled from his rider's lap, approaching the carcass. Saphira tore a piece from the body and placed it on the ground for the hatchling. He bounded over and dove into the bloody meal. Lenora felt his satisfaction through their link in shades of bright colors. Saphira settled herself on the ground, blocking their view of the deer and began eating. The crunch of bones was slightly unsettling and drove into Lenora's nerves.

_You didn't share with me in Ellesméra, yet you offer the hatchling a piece without even asking? _Eragon said.

_It's a dragon thing, _she replied curtly. He shrugged it off; he had no desire for the meat now. They ate their own breakfast, remains of the meals they had carried with them. After several minutes, the hatchling pulled his head from his meal, letting loose a small belch, his stomach bulging. His snout dripped red droplets as he drunkenly retreated to his rider. Lenora rose stiffly and took one of the waterskins from a branch, squeezing some water into her hands and extended her mind to the presence of her dragon, asking if he were thirsty. She held the water towards him, which he lapped up quickly. Sated, he climbed into her lap and curled up to sleep. An idea popped into her head as she watched the rest of the group packing supplies for the day's travel. A sleeping hatchling couldn't sit upon her shoulder, so Lenora tucked her tunic into her breeches and gently picked up her dragon. His eyes opened slightly and he growled for being disturbed, but then lay quietly in her grip. She curled him into the position he had been in and carefully slid him between the fabric and her stomach. He hardly moved a muscle. She picked up the vest where she had been using it for a pillow and slid it over her shoulders and fastened it lightly around her torso so it covered the dragon. While a bulge remained, the dragon was safe, warm and comfortable while Lenora had the contentment that her little hatchling was so close.

Shoving the cloak into one of the saddlebags, she swung her quiver of arrows and bow across her back, making sure it didn't interfere with her dragon. She touched her sword just in case, felt the dagger in her boot then faced her companions.

"Shall we?" she asked. They looked at her, then at her stomach, shrugged and nodded their approval. Another long day's trek lay ahead.

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OK, I lied about the every two weeks thing. This chapter was really fun to write and only took me a few days, so here it is! Next chapter may take two weeks though. One little detail I changed in this was the dragon's wings, which I said were feathered earlier in the story like in the movie, but I've always thought of dragons with membrane wings. Hope you guys liked this chapter! Thanks to padfootROX, LillyFan78, ignatius, Caribbean Sundown and Dreamgirl555 for the reviews and everyone for adds and faves. Support, comments, criticisms and flames are all welcome, just please review!


	14. Compromise

**Chapter 13-Compromise**

Thorn flew smoothly over the ceiling of clouds, Murtagh resting upon his back. The knowledge of leaving the castle was comforting to both of them as well as highly disconcerting. No longer would they be allowed to make a mistake. There was only one way to proceed, and that was by the King's orders. The thought of killing Lenora was so sickening to Murtagh that he had a hard time thinking about it. At the same time, even under the direct command of the king, he was not so sure he alone was physically capable. Galbatorix had trained her personally to create a deadly combatant. Cripple or not, she was a force to be reckoned with. He would have to enlist the aid of magic in order to complete the job.

_I've been thinking,_ Thorn said to his rider, _that Galbatorix never mentioned a time by which we would have to complete our task._

Murtagh closed his eyes sadly. _Either way, he will check back with us in due time. One way or another he'll have us obey his orders. He's more cunning than the both of us and will find a way. There's no escaping it._

_Oh Murtagh, those many years in the castle have done your emotional state no good. You must learn to see the silver lining. _Murtagh grunted, remaining silent. _What about the egg?_

_What about it? _Murtagh asked, lying back against the smooth scales.

_Lenora has it, Murtagh; you could have grasped that from how furious Galbatorix was. He even missed that one interaction between the two of you because of his ire. Little escapes the King's notice except when he is blind with rage. He knows that if it hatches for her, there will be a huge advantage to the Varden, for she would never choose to lay her loyalty with the Empire._

_Do you think it would hatch for her as the daughter of the most tyrannical ruler in the history of Alagaësia? _He asked his dragon genuinely.

_Lenora is a good person, though she has an anger that runs deep into her being that would not benefit her in this situation, _Thorn said. _However, we do not see only the surface, as many humans do. A dragon knows when a person is true at heart, whether he lies within his egg or has been bonded with his rider for centuries. Whilst you and I know from our relations she is not the monster her father believes he has created, the dragon within the egg knows through a sense of comprehension of the very essence of those who touch its shell. The last of our race may choose Lenora for her strength of character and her will to survive the harshest of circumstances. She would make a good Shur'tugal._

Murtagh laughed to himself. _Lenora, a rider. Now that would be a sight. Perhaps a dragon would level her temper. An overprotective young dragon would make our task a bit more difficult._

_That would just depend on when we happened to find her, _Thorn said, a dubious tone in his rumbling voice.

_What are you suggesting? _Murtagh sat up, suddenly interested.

_Galbatorix gave us our assignment, yet no set date as to when we were to return, _Thorn offered his scheme.

_Didn't we already cover this? He will be watching our every move as soon as he knows we are close! _

_I do believe you need a break, Murtagh. Your mind whirls like that of a trapped buck. Let us take a little time off from our responsibilities and do whatever we please. The King will be none the wiser as long as we are gone._

_You are such a bad influence on me, _Murtagh grinned.

_I do my best, _Thorn replied. _At the very least, we can use this time to think of a way to circumvent our mission. _He angled down, descending through the mist. Fine water droplets reflected rainbows off his scales before blowing into the wind. Murtagh shook the water from his hair and face, feeling refreshed and ready for whatever Thorn might have in mind.

_Look, _Thorn said suddenly, eyes locked on the ground. Murtagh scanned below, noticing a long black line along the ground. His eyes were not as sharp as those of his dragon.

_What is it? _Murtagh asked.

_The beginning of our plan. _He dove, causing Murtagh to grasp the rider's pommel of the saddle tightly, trusting that Thorn knew what he was doing. As the neared, Murtagh saw the figures of humans lined neatly in two rows, separate figures in the front and back.

_The prisoners, _Murtagh realized. _What are you going to do?_

_You'll see. _There were shouts from the ground, the guards aiming bows and arrows toward them and the hostages shrinking back in fear.

_Letta! _Murtagh said mentally, stopping the arrows as they hurtled towards them both. Thorn landed roughly in front of the frightened crowd.

"Shur'tugal! Forgive us, we thought you were from the Varden," the lead guard said quickly. "What can we do for you, Red Rider?"

_So what's this genius plan you've got? _Murtagh asked Thorn as he dismounted.

_Tell them to free their captives, _Thorn said. Murtagh began to understand where Thorn's mind was headed.

"Change of plan. Guards, release your prisoners. They are no longer needed," he said evenly, staring the first one in the eyes. The other had come from around the back of the line.

"We were told to take them to Helgrind by the King," he said uncertainly. Murtagh unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the man's throat before he could so much as react.

_I hope you know what you're getting us into, _he commented to Thorn.

"Release them," he repeated pointedly. The other guard foolishly tried to attack Murtagh from the side.

_Malthinae. _The second guard stopped mid swing, frozen in place. His eyes swiveled, terrified.

"Did you really expect to win?" Murtagh asked without looking at his attacker. The guard could not reply, but Murtagh could feel his fear. He glanced at the man in front of him, raising his eyebrows in question. The man swallowed nervously and produced a set of keys from his pocket, handing it behind him. The prisoner took it doubtfully, then undid their chains and handed the keys to the next in line. The keys jangled and murmurs turned into excited conversations between those liberated.

"Are you the guards who regularly take the prisoners to Helgrind?" Murtagh asked amongst the commotion.

"N-nay, rider. The last two sent were found dead near the Ramr. Was that you?"

"I think I'll be asking the questions here," Murtagh asserted. The man nodded, drips of sweat running down his face. "From now on, you will continue to take these prisoners from the castle and release them at this point along the way. You will then report to the king that they have been successfully delivered to the fortress, do you understand?"

"Aye," he said, nodding vigorously. Murtagh released the magic constricting the movements of the second guard_, Gath sem knífr un lam iet. _The sword flew from the grasp of the guard and landed neatly in Murtagh's palm, where he pointed it at its owner.

Addressing the both of them, Murtagh commanded, "Repeat after me: Vel eïnradhin thu vera nethral dercen hil garantha." When one of them hesitated, he pressed the tip of the sword until a drop of blood ran down his neck. "Do you realize how quickly the claw of a dragon can penetrate the armor and rip out a heart? Or perhaps, when they are especially ravenous, they just might indulge themselves and start at the head and work their way down. Thorn has not eaten in several days…" The fear contorted the reluctant guard's face as he said the words carefully, his voice shaking.

"But what does it mean?" one of them asked as the prisoners dispersed behind them, heading to another chance at life.

Murtagh grinned sardonically. "If you wish to see these beautiful blue skies again men, I would recommend you curb your tongue on what has transpired here today." Murtagh lowered his own sword, tossing the other back. Their faces paled. "I wish you luck on your return to the castle. If I were you, I'd add a few days to the travel so the King will not take suspicion." He turned, mounting Thorn who waited patiently.

"And one more thing," he called, "don't even think of trying to recapture any of those people. It would result in a few…less than favorable circumstances."

With one powerful beat of wings, they could see the prisoners like ants below, the guards standing where they had left them, confused and shocked. Thorn's coughing laughter rocked Murtagh in the saddle.

_We've left them like newborns. They haven't an idea what to do! _Thorn exclaimed.

_Clever Thorn, _Murtagh remarked,_ now even if we do happen to run into Lenora, we might be able to give it our best effort and still she will live. And Galbatorix, ha! He will find one day that his strength is not as it was before. We should have done that so long ago. _Murtagh could feel Thorn's satisfaction for his rider's happiness through their link.

_This may spare many lives as well as give the Varden an opportunity for victory. Let us hope that Galbatorix does not discover this ruse as quickly as he did with Lenora, _Thorn said.

_Unfortunately, these prisoners are not the only source of power he has. He does not care where his power comes from. Plant, animal, human, what have you, as long as it sustains his energy and provides him with power. In this sense, we are given an advantage for he may overlook this factor…still, it almost seems like it may have been for naught._

_Oh not nothing, dear friend. We have just rescued multitudes of innocent lives. And, if we happen to meet with Lenora in the Hadarac, we will be without magical sustenance. In doing so, we will allow her a fighting chance._

Murtagh considered the prospect. _Galbatorix's curse binds us to our word. I must scry her tonight and see what has become of her since her escape. Then we may know where she is. But you are right; we do not necessarily need to complete the task immediately upon discovering her. When we meet, it will be in the desert. _

_Then we shall reside there until Galbatorix discovers our adjournment or Lenora runs into us. _

_And what if he does? We may be sent directly after her, _Murtagh said, concerned.

_We will tell him we have scryed her and determined her location. In order to use the element of surprise, we cannot attack so quickly. We let her come to us. The only catch is that the King will not know we have siphoned off our last source of power, leaving us much more vulnerable. He will see only the subtle brilliance of the plan and allow it to take its course, like the dragon that stalks his prey. In his mind, he will see his power over us as so overpowering that we have given up hope and simply succumb to his control. _

_What would I do without you? _

_Walk, I presume._ Murtagh laughed aloud. A deep rumbling hum resounded through him. Thorn folded his wings closer to his body and tilted to the left sharply, an air current pulling them to warmer territory.

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Murtagh shivered beneath three layers of thick clothing. While the Hadarac was almost unbearably oppressive during the day, it was as cold at night. Hunched against Thorn's warm scales, a fire crackling before him, still the chill felt like it reached into his bones.

_For Lenora,_ he thought. Thorn seemed unaffected by the low temperatures, though his steaming gusts of breath blew as frost into the air. Grasping one of two waterskins, he squeezed a few drops into one palm. Thorn watched over his shoulder.

"Draumr Kópa," he said clearly. The water swirled black before materializing into a vague picture. In the middle of the white image was the same Lenora Murtagh had known for years. He smiled, knowing she was alright. She sat awkwardly, her right leg stretched out uncomfortably in front of her, the other drawn up close. She appeared to be talking and Murtagh extended his magic to hear.

"…her? It's a fitting name for such a striking dragon," Lenora was saying.

"It was chosen from an assorted list of historical names. Saphira was the one that I saw as beautiful yet strong at the same time, the epitome of my little hatchling at the time." The rough voice of his brother surprised Murtagh at first. Their discussion could mean only one thing: Lenora was the new rider. Eragon came into the picture, sitting next to Lenora on the invisible ground. "He deserves a name of honor, fit for his rider."

"Why would it be an honor to be my dragon? What have I got that others do not? I do not deserve this dragon or this responsibility. I am not proud of who I am or where I came from," Lenora admitted. "I cannot even fight as I had before. He did not choose correctly, I should not be his rider. What can a cripple do to change the fate of this land?"

Eragon gently brought his hand to her chin and drew her eyes up to meet his. A pang of jealousy caused Murtagh to look up from the image. He used to be the one who could comfort Lenora whenever she was in doubt or pain. He was like the big brother, the confidant, the one who she could rely on. The voices drew his eyes back.

"I may not know you very well Lenora, but I do know you hold a strength greater than even my own inside of you. You may be hindered by your leg, but that gives you a determination unlike anyone I have ever met. I'm sure you were a great fighter, but you have not lost everything. As part elf, even I was overwhelmed with your abilities when we fought," she smiled slightly. She reached out and scooped up an unseen object that Murtagh knew was the hatchling.

_Dragons do not choose foolishly, young one, _Saphira added. _That hatchling chose you for who you are and what you can do for Alagaësia, no matter how you feel about it. You were destined to become a rider. _Murtagh could see Lenora didn't agree with them as she changed the subject.

"We'll reach Dras-Leona tomorrow. Along with the horses, I must buy new clothes; this tunic has seen better days," Lenora said. Murtagh let the image fade.

_You must let go Murtagh. There can be no greater torture than having to cause pain to the one that you love._

He sighed, letting the water drip through his fingers onto the sand. _I wish it were that simple Thorn._

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Hope you liked it! I made up a bunch of the words that Murtagh makes the guards say, but I don't take credit for the words created by Paolini. It meant, Upon my life will I never tell of this encounter. All types of reviews are welcome, so please leave a review and you will be rewarded with another chapter probably by next Friday! Happy Holidays to everyone!


	15. Subterfuge

**Chapter 14-Subterfuge**

"Ouch!" Eragon exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder where Lenora had hit him. "You don't realize the power behind your actions."

Lenora laughed. "You just need to be more careful about what you say Eragon," she said.

"Just because I commented on how you might look better in women's clothing doesn't constitute for you pounding on me," he complained.

"I believe it does," Katrina said from behind them. "Some women believe the image that society imposes upon them are simply for the benefit of men. You wouldn't believe how uncomfortable some of the clothing is; try wearing a corset!"

"I have never been forced to wear such constricting items," Lenora said. "As long as I can easily fight in it, it should be fine."

"Does your whole life revolve around fighting?" Roran asked her.

"Aye, from the earliest of my memories I have fought. Now that I am a rider, it will only continue. Why pursue a different goal?"

"There are other things in life. Take love, for example," Roran said. Eragon's ears reddened. "Katrina and I didn't know how wonderful life could be with one another until we discovered it."

"Bah! Love is for those who have time. I must learn to fight better now that I am to be an influential aspect to the impending war," Lenora ridiculed.

"Perhaps you must see the niceties in life and then you may see the shades of gray in the world," Eragon commented.

"I'm not black and white! I know there's a middle ground," she said derisively.

"You may know it's there but you don't seem to accept it," he countered. "It sure explains your cynical, sarcastic side." She was sullenly quiet as they marched forward. Their progress was slower due to her limp but they could finally see the details of the looming city.

As they approached, Eragon remembered painfully that this was the last place he and Brom visited together. While the memories had been rushed and jumbled, Eragon still reminisced on the time he spent with his old mentor. The traveling and learning had been incredible and, despite the cause for the journey, Eragon knew he wouldn't have wanted his early days as a rider to be any different. Pain was what made a person strong and taught him how to grow. It was the emotional strain that had kept Eragon going and what had been the sole reason for his success thus far. Revenge could be a powerful thing.

_This is where the Ra'zac attacked Brom, _Saphira said venomously.

_Aye, and where we met Murtagh, _Eragon sourly replied.

_Eragon, do you really think Murtagh joined Galbatorix willingly?_ Saphira asked in a tone that suggested she disagreed._ He fought alongside us during the battle of Farthen Dûr and saved our lives many a time. He is not the corrupted person you deem him to be._

_After the fight on the plateau, are you willing to believe that? _Eragon asked her. _After all he said and did that day, you really think he is perfectly innocent? He is the son of Morzan!_

_As are you, _Saphira responded evenly._ I believe there was another meaning to his words. He let us go, did he not?_

Eragon took a minute to brood. He knew, deep within himself, that a part of him was still willing to forgive his brother. As a rider, he had to learn to let go of the resentment and look deeper into the situation. _Aye Saphira, most things are not as they seem. Perhaps Murtagh still remains loyal to the Varden, but under the King's power, we cannot trust him. _Still, one couldn't be too careful.

_There is hope yet, _she replied. Eragon didn't answer. _We are too close to the city for me to be seen._

_Here, take our bows; they will attract too much suspicion._

Eragon and Lenora shrugged off their bows and handed them over. Taking them in her claws, Saphira spread her wings and glided low to the ground to a nearby outcrop of thick trees. _I will wait for you nearby._ _Keep a low profile and don't get into trouble or I will be forced to make an appearance. That goes for both you and Lenora. I know your kin and his mate will behave themselves._

Eragon smiled. _We'll be good, mother, don't you worry. _Saphira's indignant huff went unheard.

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The thought struck Lenora before they entered what appeared to be a city forgotten by the Empire.

"Wait," she said suddenly, causing the rest of them to look at her questioningly.

"What?" Eragon asked when she paused. Lenora thought of a way to get around her predicament. She couldn't be seen. Galbatorix had more than likely posted a picture rendition of her in every city and town a hundred leagues from the castle and she did not want her companions to stumble upon her secret so blatantly.

"Wouldn't it be foolish of you to walk right into this city when Galbatorix wants nothing more than to capture you and Saphira?" she asked suddenly.

Before Eragon could reply, Roran spoke up. "She's right. I've seen your face on a wanted sign alongside mine in Teirm. There's bound to be more than the two."

"I believe I have changed quite a bit since then. Would I be recognizable?" he asked.

"Your appearance might draw wariness. You look too akin to an elf," Lenora said, hoping he would agree.

"Nay, I'll keep my hood up, we'll be fine," he replied assuredly.

"I think my beard will hide my face enough to be unidentifiable," Roran said.

"Well what about Katrina?" Lenora asked desperately, "She's on the run from the Empire as well!"

"What's gotten you so jumpy all of a sudden?" Eragon asked her skeptically.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

_If Galbatorix finds I'm in Dras Leona, he's going to send an army after me, _she thought. The hatchling, still unnamed, felt her tension and stuck his head out of her shirt curiously. Coming to a decision, she pulled her hood over her head shadily and gently pushed the dragon back into her tunic, hoping they wouldn't ask why she had to remain unnoticed herself. Eragon did the same, giving her a quizzical look before doing so.

"Alright let's go, but if we're pursued, don't say I didn't warn you," she said. She didn't tell them it would most likely be herself that would be the target.

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Beggars lined the dirty streets, their faces sunken as they asked for spare coins. Scrawny children played with the starving dogs in the streets. Signs of abuse ran rampant in their still hopeful eyes.

_This must be where most of the prisoners come from, _Lenora thought repulsively.

They entered a small marketplace where the roads were worn and crumbled. Broken cobblestones were thrown off to the side of the pathway to allow for room for the many venders selling whatever they could in order to survive.

"Well this sure puts a damper on things now doesn't it?" Roran asked. None of them answered, doing their best to focus on the shops instead of the destitute people who ran them. Then, on the wall of the first shop on the street, a large bulletin displayed notices and announcements from the Empire informing the residents of Dras-Leona of imminent plans to remodel the city. Fancy flowing ink lettering in bold colors rudely promising retribution to the city now were dull and dreary as the rest. These curled, decaying notices lay forgotten, buried beneath three large wanted signs, drawings of the culprits staring out at them.

"There's us," Roran whispered to Eragon ahead of him, "but who else are they looking for? Katrina's not a criminal, but…doesn't that look like a woman?"

Eragon's eyes snapped to the notices as he began approaching the wall. Lenora's heart jumped when she saw her portrait and the three others edging towards the drawings. She whirled around in front of them, blocking their path. They stopped short, about to ask her what she was doing.

"We're close enough as it is. Avoid these signs, they pose too many similarities to yourselves than you realize. Anyone could make the connection," she said, placing a hand against Eragon's chest as he made a slight attempt to pass her. His sharp eyes caught the details that were lost on the rest.

_It's Lenora on that reward poster,_ he realized, shielding his thoughts from Saphira. Though her appearance had become more disheveled due to travel, the face was the same. He stared into Lenora's eyes suspiciously. _A ruthless fugitive of the Empire._

"Come on Eragon," Lenora said, pushing him before her into the main street behind the others. "Keep your hood up, don't let them know anything." He resisted her efforts stiffly for a fraction of a second, then obliged. There was a better time and place for such matters and for now, she didn't pose a threat anymore than she had before. He allowed himself to be guided into the bustle of vendors and shoppers.

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As the streets had been crowded before, now they were suffocating. It seemed hundreds of people all had the same idea for selling goods. Where once the simple shops might have prospered, now small stands filled with bright fruits, woven baskets, crude wood carvings, hand-stitched clothing and more adorned the roadsides, calling their prices to passersby.

"You there!" one seller addressed them as they entered the marketplace cautiously. Lenora turned away and hid her face, but Katrina looked at the older woman in whose hands she held a brightly colored necklace of blues and greens. "Yes you deary, would you be interested in a necklace of the most unique gems in the land?" She shoved the jewelry closer to Katrina who modestly examined the item. "Those there are dwarven-made, I assure you. Traveled there and back myself when I was a sprite little thing like yourself so many years ago." Katrina smiled at the woman, unsure of how to decline the offer.

"Come now love, we do not have the gold with which to pay," Roran whispered to her, keeping his face toward the opposite side of the street. "We cannot give into every whim."

"I know Roran, but how do I tell her I cannot? Look at how desperate she is!" Katrina replied quietly.

"She pulls that prank on every young woman that passes by dear, just walk away," he said, gently pulling her arm so that she followed. She gave an apologetic look to the woman before allowing herself to part.

"Wait, you do not even want to try them on?" the woman called, "Let me give you a deal, we can talk…" her pleas were drowned out by new voices and sounds from other venders. The smell of horse manure and foods along the road piled on carts gave the market a peculiar odor that one got used to as the minutes passed. Venders, young and old alike, presented their wares to everyone, whether interested or not. It appeared many people frequented the market on a daily basis for their loaves of bread or baskets of fruit for their families. Some bought quality clothing and goods when they could afford them, while others depended on the bartering to survive. A claustrophobic feeling engulfed Lenora as people brushed up against her, banging her shoulders and bum leg as they rushed past, sounds invading her ears and smells permeating her thoughts. She tried to keep her hands in front of her to ward off people from crashing into the hatchling. Eragon noticed her discomfort and pulled her into a nearby shop. As the door closed behind them, a small bell ringing from the knob, the noise quieted to unrecognizable clamor on the other side of thin glass panes and worn wood.

"I take it you're not exactly a people person?" he asked her. She snorted in reply, rubbing her leg roughly.

"You mean you didn't gather that earlier?" As he was about to respond, the sound of light footsteps on the old wooden floors caused Eragon to whirl around.

"Afternoon!" said a middle-aged man, approaching them from around a rack of clothing. His face bore old lines of stress and angst but his eyes held a friendliness within them that shone when he proffered his hand to Eragon. Dressed in clothes of a bright yet refined style, brown hair just starting to gray at the temples covered his head thickly, showed that he was not as old as his face suggested.

His hands covered in black riding gloves, Eragon took the man's hand and shook it genuinely. "The name's Feanoir, it's good to see some new faces in these parts."

"Elson," Eragon said, smiling convincingly. "Is this your shop?"

"Aye lad, this'd be my humble little shop. Who's your lady?" he asked, his gaze traveling to the darkened face of Lenora. Eragon blushed, stepping aside. Keeping the palm of her hand facing the floor, the gedwëy ignasia still bright, Lenora extended her hand to the man assertively to show she was nobody's woman.

"I'm Celia," she said, feeling the rough calluses of the man's hand as he grasped hers warmly.

"And a right strong grip you've got there, fair Celia," he said, studying her beneath the cloak. "Where would you be from? Those hoods are a bit crooked so near to Helgrind."

As they stumbled over their words for a moment, the door creaked open behind them and the bell jangled, causing them all to glance at the newcomers as the two breathed a sigh of relief for the interruption. Roran and Katrina entered the shop quickly, shoving the door shut behind them.

"You two shouldn't wander off like that, we were searching—" Roran said before looking up and seeing the extra person in the room. He glanced at Eragon questioningly for a moment.

"Feanoir, my boy," the shopkeeper greeted. "You folks all know one another? Come now, remove those hoods, they're mighty suspicious." After the false introduction, cautiously, they stripped of their cloaks, trusting that the shopkeeper wouldn't recognize them. The motion of removing her cloak caused the hatchling to shift inside Lenora's tunic, growling slightly. She stiffened, glancing at Feanoir who had caught the motion and was looking peculiarly at her stomach. Suddenly, Eragon threw his arm around Lenora's shoulders and placed a hand on the smooth leather of her vest where the hatchling lay curled beneath.

"Did I tell you?" he asked the shopkeeper, "We're expecting!" Lenora stopped herself from breaking from his grip and punching him for the comment. Roran and Katrina quickly left to the opposite side of the store where they tried to stifle their laughter.

_WHAT? You have some nerve Eragon, you're going to pay—_she began.

_It's the only way he won't catch us, just go with it! _Eragon mentally interrupted her. Knowing it was their only way out of the situation, she looked at Feanoir again, a false smile across her face. His expression had changed from mild suspicion to one of pure joy.

"Oh my goodness, are you really? Ah, young love. It truly is the only simple pleasure these days that has not been corrupted." Lenora kept an image of bliss linger on her face as she listened to him. "How long have you two been together?"

"Two years now," Eragon said, appearing to be enjoying himself greatly to Lenora's annoyance. "We met in Belatona. She was a swordsman's assistant when I found her. Made me the most exquisite weapon, let me tell you…"

"Ah, that explains your collection of cutlery," Feanoir said delightedly, seeming oblivious to the danger it could pose to him. "Tell me, Celia, when is the baby due?"

Lenora's face reddened as she heard another snort of laughter from the others near the back, but she stared the shopkeeper in the eyes and said as sweetly as she could

"Another three months." Feanoir's eyes glistened with excitement. Clearly, the poor man didn't have many customers come his way.

"Wonderful! Tell me, what has brought you Dras-Leona today?"

_We can't stay here forever…_ Lenora thought.

Eragon cleared his throat strongly, "We have come to buy some clothes."

Feanoir composed himself. "What have you in mind? We have a large variety from the travelers who barter here. Mostly secondhand items but I'm sure we can find something suitable for you two lovebirds."

Eragon grinned at the comment. "Simple traveling clothes my good man. Ours have become worn. Some gloves for…Celia."

"As you say. I have just what you need. Would you like to come back and get fitted? My lovely wife, Giselle, will be able to accommodate you."

"Nay. We are in a bit of a hurry today. If you'd like to pick tunics and breeches for the four of us, we will swap coins once you have finished," Eragon said.

"I will be right back then," Feanoir said, hurrying off into the store where he could be seen pulling clothing from shelves. Roran and Katrina wandered back over, their faces red from mirth.

"Say one word and I swear you will wish you hadn't," Lenora threatened softly. They stayed silent, but grinning. She rolled her eyes when she noticed Eragon doing the same. She threw his arm off her shoulders disgustedly. The shopkeeper hurried back to a counter, gesturing for them to come over.

"Are these items what you were searching for?" he asked as he laid out several pairs of pants, many tunics and two skirts that appeared to transform into pants for riding. Lenora grimaced slightly.

"Those will do, thank you," Eragon said, bringing his coin purse in front of him. "How much do we owe you?"

"For you, dear boy, naught but the cost for three of these items," Feanoir said. Eragon looked at him questioningly. "I wish you and Celia good luck and a happy life together. Perhaps we may meet again and I can see your child." Throwing their cloaks over themselves again, they rushed out the door while Eragon doled out the gold to the shopkeeper, thanking him for his kindness. As he came through the door and turned around the corner of the shop, even Lenora could no longer hold back the howl of hilarity that burst from her. Tears streamed from her eyes as she laughed, the other three in the same predicament. Wakened from his sleep by her jostling, hiccupping laughter, the hatchling stuck his head up through the lacing at the top of her tunic to which they all laughed harder. As she composed herself slightly, Lenora asked,

"Think the same ploy will work when we buy horses?"

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So I owe all of my regular readers and reviewers a sincere apology for not updating for a couple weeks (ok, a month). Normally, I can get a chapter up every Friday, but lately my life has been really busy-school and work keep me on my feet up to 17 or 18 hours a day, sometimes 5 days a week and well, you gotta sleep sometime! Not to mention the holidays were and are always busy for everyone! Along with all this (and no, this is not the excuse), I've recently found someone to spend my time with (a great boyfriend) and we can only see each other on the days when I do not have school and work immediately afterwards. All in all, it amounts to not much time I can devote to writing lately. However, on the bright side, I will continue to write, despite all of this, but perhaps update every two weeks on a regular basis instead of every week. I will do my best for all of you because it makes my day when I receive one of your great reviews and I know you enjoy my writing. Thanks to everyone for your time! Super-hero Fan


	16. Clandestine

**Chapter 15-Clandestine**

Atop a strong elegant black stallion, Lenora lead the group, the smooth canter rolling gently beneath her. On her right arm stretched out to the side, her dragon gripped tightly, sharp claws encircling her arm. His long spiked tail flew out into the wind behind him. Now the size of a small dog, he had begun to understand some of what his rider said and had started to reply.

_Open your wings! _Lenora urged the dragon. His yellow eyes swiveled towards her.

_Lenora want me to fly? _The voice that had not yet deepened entered her mind.

_All of Alagaësia is counting on you Eridor, just try it! _She nudged her horse with her heels, to which his stride lengthened and the canter increased to a full gallop. Thrown slightly off balance by the change in pace, the dragon spread his wings quickly and the membranes caught in the wind and carried him up into the air. Surprised, Eridor squeaked and began to beat his wings furiously. His head and tail hung below as all his actions concentrated on his wings. Lenora laughed at his behavior. Saphira swooped down from above and hovered next to him. The horse shied to the side and a flash of the night of her capture came to Lenora's mind. She touched the horse's mind to keep him calm after Eragon experienced the same problem and told her his secret.

_You do not need to flap so much, young one, _Saphira advised, watching the little emerald dragon curiously._ Come higher, where the thermals take care of your efforts. _She flipped gracefully in the air, coming around and allowing him to use the air current from her action to fly next to her as they rose. Keeping the reins in her left hand, Lenora shielded her eyes from the bright sun and watched as the dragons leveled out several hundred feet above the ground. As Saphira showed Eridor he could glide on air streams, he tentatively slowed his frenzied flapping and coasted alongside her. Saphira waved her tail, showing the hatchling how to steer and control his movements. He copied her actions, experimenting.

Glancing over her shoulder, Lenora twitched the reins smartly, asking the stallion to slow to a trot to allow the group to catch up. Cantering together, two bays and a dappled grey followed, their gates slowing as they reached her. Roran and Katrina stayed a few lengths behind.

"Remind me again why you got the charger?" Eragon asked jokingly.

"Hey I've had enough time at the back of the group," Lenora retorted. She straightened herself in the saddle. "So what do you think?" she asked, looking up at the dragons.

"He's doing great. Saphira wasn't so lucky as to have a mentor at such a young age to help her learn to fly. He will learn quickly," he replied.

"Saphira's gift has helped. It's almost too bad though, now he's too large to fit in my tunic like in Dras-Leona," she said, shoving Eragon playfully. He grinned.

"So about Dras-Leona…" he said seriously. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question. "I know it was you on that poster Lenora."

While her heart jumped, she tried to keep a straight face. "So what of it? You and Roran are also wanted." Eridor felt her tension between their link and extended his mind to hers.

_What wrong? _He asked in his broken speech.

_Nothing. Eragon and I are just talking. Stay concentrated on flying, _she replied.

"Aye, but we have only ended up as such through circumstances against our will. We aren't listed as 'ruthless fugitives of the Empire.' Either you were forced to do some things you wouldn't normally do or there could really be some truth in those words. The way you've acted, I doubt it would be a long stretch!" Eragon said.

Fighting the anger that welled in her soul, Lenora knew she couldn't continue to hide all her secrets any longer. Still, there were some she would not yet reveal. "I do not regret the things I have done," she said, remembering the faces of the prisoners she freed that day.

"So does that mean you willingly allowed yourself to be labeled a criminal? As a rider, that mentality will not get you far," Eragon said critically.

"I'm _not _a criminal," she snapped. "My actions were merited."

"Well we have a lot of time," Eragon said matter-of-factly. "Start talking."

Lenora scowled at him. "I still don't know your whole story yet either."

"Ah you're not going to pull that trick again. I believe this is a bit more serious than before. I'm not the one in purgatory."

She sighed, wondering how to start. As simply as possible. "The poster is true."

"That much I gathered," Eragon said. "What did you do to gain such infamy?"

"Survived," she said simply.

"I don't understand."

"I didn't grow up with a nice loving family as I'm sure you did. I can see the strong bond between you and Roran. It's connections like that that I have never known."

Eragon was silent, listening, knowing it took strength to recall the pain. "From my earliest memories, my father has trained me. Trained me to become the best fighter this land has seen. He taught me everything he knew, but there was never any compassion or love. Only constant dueling."

"What for?" Eragon asked.

"For the war. He believed that if it came down to the very last resort, I could be the one who would decide the fate of the war. He thought he could get me to fight for the Empire."

"Your father is no common man," Eragon stated wisely.

"No," Lenora admitted. "He's very powerful and old. But most of all, he's cruel. To his very core; he has never shown me any kindness." They rode for several moments before Eragon asked,

"The fancy clothes and weapons. The expertise of your fighting is not something one chances upon, even in these hard times. I've half a mind to believe you work for the Empire with such ornate décor. I asked you before and now I ask you again: where are you from?"

She thought of a way to disguise who her father really was. Her ties to the Empire were so obvious, that she couldn't mask the fact completely. She settled on a decision.

"My father is a Captain in the Empire's cavalry. I grew up in the castle of Uru'baen, against my will." She wondered how Eragon would react to such dubious origins.

"You were held prisoner?" he asked, holding back the suspicious tone to his voice.

"Aye, you could say that. My father is so vile. He murdered my mother when I was four. I saw the whole thing. She knew the person he had become and when she stood up to him finally to tell him we were leaving, he killed her. Just like that," she paused for a moment before continuing, the emotions roiling within her. "It was after that that I became a tool for him to sharpen and hone, grind into the weapon he wanted. Normally, I wasn't held in the dungeons unless it was after a failed attempt at escape or I had so angered him that he placed me there after torture. I planned an escape many times, but it was only until recently that it worked. After the incident that crippled me, of course."

"That was an escape?"

"Partially. It was after a day of training during which the war came up. Not an uncommon subject, but it makes matters worse nonetheless. He asked me why I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. Why I, of all people, didn't admire his courage and prose. Why I always fought what he desired and wanted for my future, claiming he had given me everything he had to offer. That was the last time he attempted to make me understand. It came to a point that he found me a lost cause and that's when I finally escaped from the castle amidst the prisoners taken to Helgrind."

"Your father must have many resources at hand for you to have lived in the castle…"

"He…he has close ties with the King," Lenora said, testing the waters. "I personally have never met the man nor hold any desire to. There were stories. Stories that were told throughout the dungeons and among the servants. Everyone knows he's corrupt, but only a few know just how much."

"And the Empire's rider…Murtagh. What do you know of him?" Eragon asked.

Lenora didn't know how to respond. She secretly knew of Murtagh's intentions when he had confronted Eragon and Saphira at the burning plains not too long ago. It was now that she could either reinforce Eragon's suspicions regarding his brother or destroy all that Murtagh had done to shield Eragon from the Empire. "I have never met the Red Rider."

"Have you heard anything of him? Where he stands in the war?" Eragon pressed.

"Nay Eragon, I have not. I know only that the Varden's and the Empire's riders engaged in a battle at the Burning Plains recently. That is all I have heard. I know not of his loyalties."

Eragon sighed. His brother was under Galbatorix's rule whether he wished to be or not. All he could do was prepare for another confrontation, knowing within himself, that he and Saphira were no match for the strength the King had instilled in his minion.

"Tell me, did you yourself fight in the battle?"

Lenora glanced over at Eragon. "If I had, you would have known. The battle of the burning plains occurred prior to my injury and I would have been forced by both my father and the King to fight for the Empire. You think I fight well now, ha! You should have seen me before. I believe I could take on Galbatorix himself, save for magic and his dragon. I was taught by the best there is in archery, hand-to-hand combat and swordplay. My father learned from the King and I, through him. If I had been pitted against the Varden, you would have suffered a much greater loss."

"Truly, Lenora, I do not doubt your prowess, yet I do not understand your expertise. Any elf can best a human when pitted against them, yet the strength you displayed when we fought in Helgrind was beyond the average human. The speed and technique were incredible, I do not know how you executed such proficiency with the blade."

Lenora snorted with sarcasm. "You know personally the reality of my training. Now I fight like one who has had but a few years of swordplay beneath their belt. My leg won't allow for such complex maneuvers that made up most of my proficiency before. I can teach what I have learned, but some of it you must come about on your own. I must warn you, Eragon, that the ways I was taught differ greatly from your own. Under a ruthless teacher who believed no one's life is as valuable as his own, I fear my inhibitions have been diseased by the beliefs of my father. I'll fight anything or anyone if I feel my life is in peril. I kill as quickly and efficiently as possible, and once I have struck, I make sure the enemy is dead. There are no rules to the way I fight, no boundaries, no lines to cross. But if you'd really like to know of my secrets rider, you must give me some of your own in return."

"You enjoy a good bargain, now don't you?"

"Ah, but free advice is only worth what you pay for it," Lenora countered. "After all, it seems I am now a rider and need someone to teach me the finer arts of magic and dragons."

"Well said. Alright, you have yourself another deal. You tell me your clandestine tactics and I'll teach you how to be a dragon rider."

Lenora's mind wheeled with the implications. Would it really be such a great idea to have a rider reveal his secrets to his success to someone who didn't know where she was going in life? If Galbatorix managed to recapture her again, her artillery of knowledge of the Varden could prove devastating if he pried it from her.

As the sky darkened and stars began to peer down at them, they stopped the horses.

_Saphira, _Eragon said, _we are stopping for the night and giving the horses a rest._

_We come,_ was her simple reply.

The dragons began to descend, emerging from the darkness above. Saphira landed elegantly on the ground, the dust stirred up from the dirt surrounding her. Slightly wobbly from the changing altitude, Eridor backpedaled quickly, his wings wheeling.

_Slower, slower,_ Saphira said gently. _Try to land on Lenora's arm again._

After dismounting awkwardly, Lenora stuck her arm out for Eridor to land upon, trying to keep from laughing at him. The young dragon flapped his wings hard as he came closer and Lenora ended up catching him as he missed his target and was on his way down to the dirt. Disjointing herself from the tangle of scaly wings, claws and legs, Lenora placed Eridor on the ground. His head whipped around and he stared her straight in the eyes. A shiver ran up her spine. Her dragon.

_Lenora mean! _He exclaimed, his voice sounding much less menacing than his proud stature.

_Sorry little one, I had to, _she said apologetically._ You did well though for your first flight._

_But you laugh at me,_ he said, sitting indignantly on the ground.

_I laugh because I cannot believe how lucky I am to have you, Eridor. Together, we will bring peace to Alagaësia and unite the separated races. _The little dragon looked up at her again, and without a moment's hesitation, leaped into her arms, a small rumbling emerging from deep within him. From beneath the grazing scratches and scuffs from the impact, Lenora smiled. Her dragon.

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Once again, I have gone another month without updating. Honestly, life has been rough, hectic, busy and demanding lately, but that's all I got for an excuse. I'll just say I'll update as often as possible, I just need a little inspiration for my writing. Thanks to T21, Julia Attwood, hpjedi1, blade 2, SilverSkulblaka, Dreamgirl555, Midnight, Jasmine D, Xewioso, Zutara-forever56 and padfootROX for their recent reviews. Just so you all know, I welcome critical and helpful reviews, suggestions, comments-anything helps and I really need a little motivation. Thanks, and hope you enjoyed reading!


	17. Consequence

Chapter 16-Consequence

Chapter 16-Consequence

Murtagh lay reclined in the sand, his head propped on the pack containing his meager amount of possessions. A thin tunic was spread across his face to prevent sunburn as he lightly slept. A slight breeze tugged at the corners of the makeshift barrier and his clothes. He had found that while Thorn was gone to search for food, if he lay in the same spot as the dragon had occupied that night, the sand wouldn't burn his skin through the clothes. This was only a slight respite, however, because once he had settled on a position, he couldn't move until his companion returned. Despite the protection he had taken before, his skin was red and peeling from the brutal sun. For the first few days, Murtagh had been able to stake up a thin tent using the last tendrils of his magic to hold the stakes steady in the loose sand. Once the effects of the distance he had put between himself and any magical sustenance set in, no longer could he implement even the smallest of spells to shield himself from the sun. Murtagh reassured himself that this discomfort was a small sacrifice for the well being of the new rider.

It had been a week since they had set up residence in the Hadarac. Galbatorix, surprisingly, had yet to contact his minion. Though it was never a welcome exchange, the absence of the harsh voice in his head unnerved the rider. Every time he and Thorn had presumed they could find another ambiguity within the King's orders, he had proven them to be foolish to believe they could outsmart the most cunning man the whole of Alagaësia had ever seen.

The thrumming of wings above him woke Murtagh. Through the fabric, Murtagh could see a shadow envelop the sun he had been baking in as if a cloud had passed over the burning yellow orb. Seconds later, a respite from the heat spread through him.

_You look as if slavers have kidnapped you, thrown a bag over your head and left you to die in the heat if the sun, _Thorn commented amusingly.

_Well that wouldn't be too far off, _Murtagh replied. _Find anything for us to eat?_ The sand absorbed the impact as Thorn landed next to his rider and dust flew from the ground. Murtagh waited for a moment to remove the tunic.

_There were perhaps enough lizards to satisfy your hunger in this desert but I had to fly nearly halfway to Furnost to find any prey of considerable size. _Murtagh noticed Thorn had dropped several rabbits before him. _I ate what I needed before returning. _

_I appreciate your efforts. Stale bread and cheese were becoming quite unexciting, _he said, pulling a dagger from his pack and proceeding to skin the food. _If we stay here more than a few days longer, you _will_ have to fly to Furnost so we can refill the waterskins at Tïdosten Lake._

_I never really realized how fortunate we are to have the use of magic, _Thorn said as he lay down next to Murtagh and spread a wing over him, blocking the sun from the rider. _But now that we must perform tasks as the common people have for centuries, I appreciate their hardships._

Murtagh laughed. _We are still far from common Thorn. I remember when I used to believe I could run away to a secluded town and live disguised as a common peasant or trader, never to be discovered by Galbatorix until the end of my days. It would be quite difficult to carry out that plan now with a giant dragon in tow._

_Ah but you could say you just stumbled upon a poor, neglected red stone only to find that it hatched into a handsome young dragon._

_More like an arrogant overgrown lizard, _Murtagh teased. Before Thorn was able to retort, a familiar stabbing pain breached the walls of his protected mind as if they were never even reinforced.

_If your fulfillment to your duty has become as slow as your reflexes Murtagh, you will find capturing Lenora an impossible task, _sneered the voice of the King.

Biting back a retort of his own, Murtagh replied, _On the contrary, my liege, we have constructed a plan with which to use in the attack._

_Have you now? _Galbatorix mocked. _Does it involve spending undue time basking in the rays of the desert sun while your target continues to pass the days in the company of the Varden's rider?_

_We mean to implement the use of surprise, _Murtagh tried to explain, knowing as he said it, their plan was not as structured as they had hoped it would sound. _We scryed Lenora and discovered she had encountered Eragon and his companions and has since remained with them. _An unsettling silence followed Murtagh's dialogue, so he continued. _Because of the outcome at the Burning Plains, Thorn and I thought it wise to let them come to us, unwittingly stepping into a trap…_Now time for improvisation. _We overheard they were traveling to Farthen D_û_r and have positioned ourselves in their path._

_And this is what has deterred you in your search? You are afraid to face Eragon and Saphira in battle again? It seems the training I have put you through has been wasted. _

_Thorn and I both agree that this way they will walk directly into our attack, completely unprepared and we will have the advantage from the beginning, enabling us to complete our task as well as fend off the attack from Eragon and Saphira. We are greatly outnumbered and must resort to whatever means to accomplish our mission._

_If you have been scrying Lenora as often as you claim, you would know that the last egg has hatched for her. The longer you wait, the larger the dragon will grow and pose a greater threat! _Though Murtagh knew this, he remained silent on the fact that this was part of the plan. _In another month, she will be able to ride the beast, and the boy, no doubt, will be teaching the rat everything he has learned. Tell me Murtagh, are you trying to disobey me?_

_I am bound to your orders, my King, and I am unable to resist your rule. As I have said, the group is headed for imminent attack and Lenora will be easily defeated._

_And do you plan to simply let your brother the rest of them escape? You do not expect them to retaliate once you have taken the life of a friend?_

Murtagh paused, unable to reply. Galbatorix had ordered him to leave the castle without orders to capture Eragon and Saphira, but the rider knew it was only a matter of time before his original purpose was resurrected. _Nay. But I cannot guarantee his capture with so many against the two of us._

_The others can be extinguished with one simple word, Murtagh. Or have you forgotten how to perform magic?_

_My magical abilities are sufficient for this task, however Lenora's dueling abilities together with Eragon's magical prowess may prove trying for my own. I expect them to arrive before the dragon is not much more than a hatchling, therefore insignificant in the fight._

_Use the prisoners and you will have all the strength you need. If you fail, follow them and try again. You are not to return to this city until Lenora and her dragon are dead and Eragon and Saphira are detained._ The mental presence withdrew from his mind like a barbed quill and Murtagh shuddered. He looked down at the rabbits, having completely forgotten he was hungry.

_Without magic and pitted against two paramount fighters in the land, we have no chance of winning, even under the King's directions, _Murtagh said slowly. _How are we supposed to win in the end?_

_Under these instructions, we have no choice but to pursue them again after they have escaped. Once we leave the desert, we will again be able to use magic but Lenora will have had more time to train with Eragon and will be more prepared to defend herself. The hatchling will also have grown to sufficient size to fight as well. She is not in danger as long as the prisoners are no longer stored in the depths of the Ra'zac's lair. Was not the plan to allow her the chance to escape harm and allow Eragon to continue eluding capture?_

_Aye, _Murtagh said, his voice now sullen, _but now we must continue to play the assassins. There is no alternative._

_Was there ever one? _Came Thorn's pragmatic reply.

* * *

Deep within the depths of the castle, Galbatorix closed his eyes and allowed all the sounds the old structure to fade from his notice. The creaking of old wooden doors and the clanging of metal footsteps from armored guards in the hallways. More noticeable now was the ever present mind of Shruikan, who more often than not, remained dismally silent. Shielding his thoughts and memories from those around him, Galbatorix then extended his mind once again to search the presences residing in the castle. Finding Murtagh in the distant Hadarac had been perhaps too easy for his presence came shrouded in power that radiated from his dragon but sifting through the thousands of consciousnesses within the stronghold was something different entirely. Within this haphazard mix of people, there were two individuals with which the King intended to contact.

Then, among the many common minds, two of these revealed themselves to be something very different entirely. Two creatures which preferred to spend their time in the dungeons with the remains of an unfortunate soul who had discovered there was a fate worse than death. Unusually intelligent, the dark sundry elements of their minds contained exceptional might and unknown actions of the past. Contacting the creatures, he instructed them to come directly to the throne room where he waited. Through nothing more than trepidation for the King's abilities to instill fear in even the most fearsome of creatures, they came when beckoned.

Bringing the throne room back to his perception, Galbatorix waited for several minutes until the scrape of claws against stone floors alerted him of the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka's approach. The disabled offspring bowed to his leader.

"I hope you both have not consumed more than your proffered share of guilty prisoner while you have been in my hospitable accommodations," the King drawled. Since the Ra'zac had enlightened him of Lenora's escape, which would otherwise have gone unknown for weeks, Galbatorix had allowed the creatures to live, despite the loss of the egg. "As you know, we do have need for the better part of these people."

"Of coursssse, your majessssty, we have not abusssed your generoussss offeringsss," the Ra'zac replied cautiously. "What have we been called here for?"

"The rider has not yet successfully eliminated the threat that he was sent to destroy. The swordsman that managed to kill your kin is a great menace to the land," Galbatorix said, choosing his convincing words carefully. "As victims of the treachery this individual has been known to commit, I offer you the chance for retribution and the opportunity to correct your mistake."

"You want usss to clean the land of thisss blemisssh that hasss causssed usss grief?" The Ra'zac hissed in understanding.

"Precisely," replied the King. Even though these creatures seemed vile, apparently even they could feel sorrow for their kin. "But this person is not who you expect. You will find, somewhere between Dras-Leona and the Beor Mountains, the same group you encountered in Helgrind." A hiss from the Lethrblaka penetrated the air. "The swordsman remains with the rider and his cousin who wields the hammer, but this swordsman is a woman. She is, as you have seen, a force to be reckoned with and I wish to see her defeated as much as you."

"The dragon isss ssstrong, but we may attack at night and gain ground on this ssscum. The missssion isss our pleassssure, my liege. We leave immediately." Galbatorix smiled; more pieces of the puzzle coming together. He knew the creatures would not be able to slaughter the humans as easily as they wished, but the King knew that it only took a quick slice across the neck to kill a hatchling.

* * *

In the quiet corners of his mind, the King searched through his memories. The day Murtagh had been forcefully returned to his servitude, he had examined his unwilling mind for what had transpired during his days as a free man. Among these memories, Galbatorix had not failed to take note of the details presented to him within Farthen Dûr. While Murtagh had not been quite welcomed in the dwarven fortress, he had seen the grandeur of the mountain and the faces of thousands of dwarves and people of the Varden and so took great care to reconstruct these memories to recreate the appearance once again in his mind.

Drawing the magic from his mind, Galbatorix constructed a scene using the components of Murtagh's memories. Using the recent assassination of the Dwarf King to constitute the scene he built into the setting, he incorporated an important factor to the mix. The faces of the dwarves and members of the Varden in the mountain were placed in platforms built of the mind of the King as if they were an audience. Then above this sea of anonymous people, an elaborately decorated stone stage was created, seating the leaders of fellow dwarven clans who watched the processes from a respected angle. The reason for this gathering was shown in the gold helm placed carefully on a podium for all the dwarves to see and secretly envy. Finally, the most important aspect to complete the simulated assembly. From what Murtagh had seen, Eragon had become fast friends with a certain dwarf within the same clan whose leader the Red Rider had murdered that day on the Burning Plains. The figure of Orik stood before his friends and acquaintances, in the process of being crowned and named the new leader. Hidden behind the mass of dwarves and humans, a man crouched unknown to the others, arrow trained on the soon-to-be dwarf king. With a twang, the bow released the weapon.

Several hours later, Galbatorix allowed the scene to end ominously before any outcome could be conceived. The slight features had to be so similar to the real setting that no differences could be determined. Reviewing his work behind the walls of his ironclad mind, the King mused at how easy this was. He knew it was only consequence that Murtagh and Thorn had been staying near the crossways between Dras-Leona and Farthen Dûr. Because of his rider's subtle resistance, it was up to him to make sure the group continued on this path. For the final time that day, he extended his consciousness past the borders of Urû'baen, past the Lethrblaka and Ra'zac flying further into the land, and located the sleeping group. Even deep in sleep, the barriers surrounding Lenora's mind had to be navigated but Galbatorix found it simple to surreptitiously plant the scene into her mind as a dream and withdraw without her knowing.

Galbatorix had never been one to leave the evildoings to others. After all, that was the best part.

* * *

I assure all of you that I have **not **abandoned this story. I have however, been experiencing extreme writer's block for the past month while trying to work on a new chapter. In the end, I scrapped it and started a new one that was completely different after writing over 3 pages of longhand, single spaced summaries and ideas for the next 16 chapters. So do not worry because I have ideas and I am going to use them. I will not be going another six weeks without updating and yet again, I sincerely apologize.

Thanks to FantasyDreamer555, SilverSkulblaka, Alice4Ever, Xewioso, Zutara-Forever56, aeliani, hpjedi1 and padfootROX for the reviews on the last chapter. All reviews are welcome and wanted!


	18. Illumination

Chapter 17-Illumination

The morning previously, the group sat in the brisk morning air as they ate breakfast. Having undergone a sudden growth spurt, aided by the magic that Saphira had gifted him with, Eridor now stood a foot taller at the shoulders than the horses. The constant travel had begun to add significant muscle to his lean body, but he had not yet lost the resemblance to a teenage boy still growing into his lanky frame. His emerald scales shone brilliantly in the rising sunlight, mist snaking around his spikes. His wingspan had become nearly two-thirds the breadth of Saphira's in but a few days. Though he was a handsome young dragon, his temperament still remained high-strung and easily excited, as he had demonstrated upon hatching. Even Lenora's serious characteristics were sometimes tempered by his enthusiasm over the smallest of occurrences. Nevertheless, the ancient wisdom of the dragons still ran deep into his psyche and he surprised the others with thoughts pronounced with great insight.

Now he lay, curled around her with the tip of his tail twitching in silent boredom and impatience, like a cat on constant alert. Without persistent activity, his true tendencies revealed themselves in his curious un-draconic antics.

_Lenora, are we going to continue traveling today or can we maybe do something different? _He asked. The voice of a hatchling had been replaced by a slightly deeper tone, which Lenora knew would become a lower rumbling in the future, having been on the receiving end of both Shruikan and Thorn's mental projections. She rolled her eyes.

_Not all of us have the boundless energy of a hatchling like you, Eridor. I figured perhaps we could stay here for a day while I teach Eragon what I have promised. You too should probably continue your lessons with Saphira._

Keeping his frustration at a task he found almost dull after days of repetition quiet, he responded maturely. _I believe that the pair should learn your ways as well. After all, the war rages on. From what I have heard, this is only a lull in the madness that is keen to continue wrecking its havoc upon the land. It seems only logical that everyone should have the chance to know how to fight and defend themselves in the event of an attack._

_You must actually be listening to Saphira, _she joked. _You're beginning to sound rational. _He snorted at her, blowing her hair from her face, causing her to laugh.

"What are you two talking about? These silent dragon-rider conversations seems all too secretive to those of us who do not communicate telepathically," Roran said derisively.

"Actually, we were thinking we should take the day to brush up on our fighting techniques."

"Don't you two do enough of that every evening with your sparring sessions?"

"One can never train too hard or practice too often," she replied. "Besides, the horses could use the break."

"Sounds like a means to avoid a day of magic. Have you not yet learned to raise the pebble Lenora?" Eragon asked. He had given her the task that Brom had assigned to him the first time he had discovered the hidden abilities of the dragon rider.

"Nay, it is eluding my efforts as usual. It's my turn to fulfill my promise and educate you instead. From what I have seen of your abilities, you are swift and strong but lack the distinctive techniques you will need if you desire any chance of defeating Galbatorix," Lenora said, brushing from her mind the maddening attempts to lift the blasted rock above her palm using nothing more than the words "Stenr reisa." Apparently, her knack for fighting did not carry over into her abilities with the ancient language.

"You can't simply give up," Eragon persisted. "Indeed, that's what should motivate you to try harder. If I had given up when Brom introduced magic to me, I would have never survived as long as I have."

"Precisely," Lenora said. "That's the attitude you must take when fighting an opponent. Never back down; never give up. As soon as you do, they'll take your head. It doesn't matter if you've delivered a fatal blow, you make sure they're dead before you retreat."

"This is your wonderful secret technique?" Eragon asked sarcastically.

"That is merely the basis of my training. I've been trained to fight and trained to kill. I can only teach you to finish the job for there is no halfway. As I have said before, I was never taught ethics, only survival."

"Hold on," Roran interrupted, turning to Katrina. "I'm not sure you should listen to this Katrina; I'd rather you not learn such brutal tactics. Trust me, once you've taken a life, your morals can become very vague."

Since joining the group, Katrina had remained fairly silent and reserved, save for the event in Dras-Leona. To Eragon, she seemed nearly the same young woman she had in Carvahall, though he feared the Ra'zac had stifled the core brightness and boldness he knew her to possess. So it was to his, as well as his companions' surprise, that Katrina stood suddenly and rebuked Roran's statement.

"Roran, I appreciate your concern, but in all fairness, you must agree that I have seen more gruesome sights than even you thus far."

The rest of the group stayed quiet, wondering how Roran would respond. Taken aback by her words, Roran stumbled over his own. "I-I realize that, my love, that is what I am trying to protect you from."

"During all that time in Helgrind, I witnessed things that humans should never have to see. Do you realize why those people where in the dungeons? Do you have any knowledge of the Ra'zac's tendencies?" Shocked by Katrina's approach, her fiancée remained quiet. "I have watched those monsters take human beings, still living, breathing and full of life, and rip them apart. I have heard the screams of so many people as they are eaten alive. I have seen and felt the blood splatter the walls of the dungeons and drip from the reeking mouths of those monsters. I have heard the splinter of bones as their beaks drove into what was left of the bodies. The noises that they made as they tore freshly deceased organs from the ribcages, sometimes a still-beating heart. They only times they conversed with me was to relate that they had _eaten_ my father on the way to Helgrind or to taunt me, saying it was only a matter of time. I've always tried to see the good in people, to think that no matter how dark they may seem, that there is always a chance for retribution. I have been proven wrong; there are some creatures that are simply evil. I may not have fought in battle, but there is little that compares to the brutality of the Ra'zac."

Katrina's voice held a tone that suggested the memories were still fresh in her mind. Though there was vehemence in her voice, it began to tremble as she continued. "I have watched every last victim thinking that next time, it would be me. I didn't know if I was ever going to escape. I had no idea, Roran, none! But even after I had lost count of the days that I remained prisoner, I never lost hope and I never gave up." Now, she locked eyes with her love and her strength became renewed with her words. "I deserve every right to learn what Lenora has to teach for I am the one who needs it the most. I have never fought before, but I intend to learn, whether you deem it right or not. I do not want to dispute your good intentions, but I refuse to stand and watch you fight, not knowing if you will survive or not. I do not wish to avenge my father as he joined the Ra'zac willingly. While I don't think he was in his right mind at the time, I don't think blaming the whole of the Empire for the actions he committed would help. Nevertheless, everyone who can take part has the obligation so I will be beside you every step of the way, learning how to defend you as you have learned to defend me."

Roran appeared as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. After imprisonment under the Ra'zac's cruel ways, it was odd that Katrina had not shown any signs of the duress. As they knew now, it had only been suppressed, but elegantly so. Katrina was a strong woman and exactly the type of person whom he should spend his life with. Roran rose from the ground where they had listened to Katrina's discourse, watching her pace across the ground to avoid their eyes, and took her in his arms. She returned the embrace with a whispered profession of her love. Her betrothed took a step back and held her gently by the shoulders.

"Katrina, if you wish to fight so fervently, I approve. But I wish you had told me of your inner demons long ago before they took such hold of your emotions."

"I have not changed, Roran, any more than you have. I heard what you accomplished with the entire village and how you braved the elements and fears of others to lead them to safety. You are different from the man I fell in love with in Carvahall, as I now have changed as well. We all are becoming war-hardened and battle-ready at a moment's notice. The Empire is casting its shadow upon everyone in Alagaësia and so, must we all fight for our land and dispel it of the darkness."

Smiling with pride, Roran gestured for her to sit again and they looked toward Lenora to continue.

"That is exactly the approach we all must take. It would be foolish to think that we can take the Empire in revenge for the actions of Galbatorix," Lenora spat the name, knowing even as she said the words, she must fight her own emotions. "When you fight, you must dismiss any anger or you will find you can take naught but the lowliest of soldiers. Your rage may give you strength, but it will make you irrational and lash out without thinking of the consequences."

"Aye, I remember fighting only in anger. No matter how prestigious the fighter, you will always be defeated eventually. Everyone except you. Your anger fueled your actions and made them stronger," Eragon said.

"But you defeated me in the end, did you not?" Lenora asked pointedly. "If you first rid yourself of all emotion, there is no doubt that you will fight better. Now because we do not have the necessary equipment for anything else, we will begin with hand-to-hand combat until we can obtain more weapons."

_We have tooth, claw and thorn, _Eridor remarked. _But I know how to use these only as much as Roran can wield a sword. One may possess weapons, but without the knowledge to use them, they are futile._

_Well-said, young one. We should continue your lessons. Today, we shall begin mid-air combat and we will see if you can encompass your flight techniques into the lesson, _Saphira said, rising from the ground. Eridor stood and spread his wings, the forest green membranes stretched taut.

_Finally, something different! _His leg muscles bunched and he leapt above the camp, folding his wings close to his body and executing a barrel roll before rising further into the sky. _I'll be back later; be prepared! _

_Don't let it go to your head when you find Saphira can kick your scaly behind, _Lenora told him.

_Amateur_, Saphira joked. In an instant, she was after Eridor as they disappeared into the mist.

* * *

In order to determine where to start with her companions, Lenora sparred them each individually without any instructions but to do their very best. As she tempered her own level of skill to give her opponent a fighting chance, Lenora discovered that while Roran had not had any formal training, he was adept at grappling. After allowing him to throw a few punches and haphazard kicks that found no purchase, he had come in close while backing up to her own punching distance, Lenora had tripped due to her bum leg. Before she could rise, he had dropped down on a knee next to her and hooked his good left arm around her neck and dragged her backwards so she was unable to rise. Though she had been able to gather her feet and flip him over her head with a subsequent punch one inch from his face, she was impressed. If he was disarmed in combat and took his opponent to the ground, he would have a good chance of survival, as long as he could strangle his rival or twist their neck.

Katrina, with some strength rebuilding after being cell-bound for weeks, could prove herself a formidable fighter. Their fight had been quite different, as Katrina concentrated on weak spots, using whatever she could. Lenora had to protect her eyes and chest from driving nails and wild attacks. In fighting, the rider could tell the hardships the young woman had endured and the frenzied striking she must have used against the Ra'zac to little avail. Enduring slices across her arms and the few that reached her face, Lenora quickly landed a few controlled punches to the delicate torso. Adrenaline allowed Katrina to continue attacking, but Lenora's bruising blocks to her slim wrists made her back down a degree. Katrina retreated a few steps to evaluate where to attack next. Lenora waited, eager to see what Katrina was capable of. The blood running down the rider's forearms and dripping from her chin was testament to Katrina's abilities but she had yet to deliver even a mock-debilitating blow and Lenora hardly noticed the cuts. In a real fight, she would have only angered her opponent. Still, she had the chance to redeem herself.

Lenora watched carefully as Katrina again neared. When she saw the approaching right fist spearing through the air toward her face, she grabbed it and pulled Katrina off balance. As Katrina lurched past her side, Lenora pulled a punch to the woman's kidneys and threw a deadly elbow to the back of her head, stopping at the last second, effectively taking her life twice. Katrina had impressive spirit but without any fighting experience, it would take a while longer to train her to same level of skill as her fiancée. Nonetheless, Eragon healed Lenora's bleeding cuts before his turn.

Eragon had not fought so extensively sans weapons. Lenora could see it in the way he held himself as he faced her, as if his empty hands left him uncomfortably vulnerable. Since Lenora had already fought, her leg had now grown accustomed to the level of activity and she felt more prepared to face the other rider. Knowing his strength outmatched her own, she would have to rely on technique and speed. Not as nimble as before, she wasn't able to stay on her toes, bouncing in and out of his striking distance as she normally would have, taunting him. Now she held back and waited for him to attack. Remembering their first unarmed fight against one another, he attacked hard and fast, but still she was too quick. As if she too possessed the lightening fast elven reflexes, his first attack brushed past her as she misdirected it, blocked the second punch and penetrated his stomach with one of her own. His breath whooshed out, but he remained upright. She continued to linger on the edge of his kicking range, daring him to put himself into such an exposed position. As she hoped for, he took the invitation, and kicked with his front foot, but before she was able to grab it and throw him to the ground, he had recoiled and thrown a crescent kick from his back leg, never even touching back down to the ground in between attacks. She stepped an inch out of his reach, and followed his foot in as he brought the boot back, delivering a open-hand shock to his sternum to cause him to lose his breath. As he stood, paralyzed for a fraction of a second, she hooked her heel behind his front foot, pulled the limb toward her and held his tunic as he fell to avoid him collapsing with too much force.

"I've been wanting to do that for a week!" Lenora exclaimed, helping the disgraced Eragon to his feet. The sun had reached its peak in the sky as the dragons returned from their lesson as well.

_So how did you do? _Lenora asked. _Don't tell me…Saphira ordered you to do repetition after repetition and you just didn't know when it would ever end! _

_Actually, _Eridor replied, anticipation filling his voice, _she said I did so well, that it was time._

_Time for what? _Lenora asked, though she knew the answer.

_Time for you to become a true dragon rider._

* * *

That was the fastest chapter I have written in nearly 4 months. I actually would have had this posted on Sunday night if my Internet connection would have been working-ah technology…don't I deserve a bunch of reviews for my hard work? Please tell me what you think, what I can change, or what you'd like to see in future chapters. Thanks to Leyla, ANGELOFTHEBLACKROSES, yasha-fire-starter, clarissa avila, hpjedi1, Zutara-forever56, Alice4Ever and padfootROX for the reviews!


	19. Premonition

Chapter 18-Premonition

_Eridor, you're only a week old, how can you expect me to ride you?_ Lenora asked.

_He is the size I was the first time Eragon rode me. He can easily carry you. After all, all of Alagaësia is counting on you._ Saphira told her, repeating Lenora's own words. _Use my unmolded saddle and be sure to strap your legs in._

_You think that after only a few days of lessons that Eridor is ready to carry a rider?_

_Be careful, young one, you might just be starting to sound as if you're afraid…_

Getting up, Lenora scowled and marched over to where the saddle was hung over a low branch. Scooping it up, the leather supple from use, she threw it over her dragon's back and began strapping it around him.

Locking eyes with the azure dragon, she declared, _I am _never _afraid. _In the secret realms of her mind, she remembered the first time she had attempted escape from the castle when she was still very young. After a training session had gone unusually badly, she had snuck through the kitchen's back door where the servants dumped scraps of food, in a poorly planned getaway. She had gotten into a tussle with a beggar outside the door, but because of her slight experience of hand-to-hand combat, she was able to escape and run wildly away. Unsurprisingly, not a league from the castle, her whereabouts had been reported by a guard while her father had been riding Shruikan back to the dragon hold. Though she had tried to elude him as soon as she heard the approaching wing beats, Lenora was helpless as he had swooped down upon her and the dragon had caught her in his claws. She remembered the serrated claws digging into her soft skin and leaving long blood scores. However, her resulting injuries were nothing in comparison to the fear she had experienced when Galbatorix threatened to order Shruikan to drop her as they returned to the castle.

A sudden snort broke her thoughts. _Hey, what did I do to you? _Eridor managed to ask. In her quick anger, his rider had not been concentrating on her task and had tightened the straps so they were now restricting Eridor's breath.

_Sorry Eridor, _Lenora said before unfastening the loops and fixing the lengths. She pulled her own belt tight to make sure her sword was securely attached.

_Are you ready? _Eridor asked as he crouched, having felt the tendrils of emotion from his rider. Shoving the apprehensive feelings that roiled in her gut away, she placed her left foot in the stirrup and pulled herself onto her dragon using the spikes in front of the saddle. She leaned over and fastened the straps around her legs.

_Aye, Eridor,_ she replied. _It's time to fly. _

_Hang on! _Eridor said. An eager roar ripped through him before the young dragon leaped into the air. There was an instant when Lenora felt weightless before the dragon brought his wings down in a mighty beat as they shot into the sky. For the first time in weeks, she found that her leg didn't bother her, for riding a dragon was much smoother, whereas riding a horse still required leg control. Together, they didn't need a leader or orders to follow. In the air, they were one. Forgetting her fear, Lenora instead focused on the amazing sensation of looking down on the world below her from a safe mount.

_Eridor, this is amazing! You can see everything from up here. _She heard the rumbling laughter emanate from within him.

_This is only basic flight. You should see everything Saphira has taught me! Watch this! _Eridor exclaimed, tucking his wings to his scales. The world tipped below them and then they were upside down. Her legs securely fastened to the saddle, there was no threat of getting tossed from her dragon's glinting back, but her hair lashed around her face wildly. She kept a hand upon her sword to keep it in its scabbard. Her companion spun smoothly through the whipping winds, like a fish slicing through rough waters. When she had just begun to feel slightly nauseated, Eridor snapped open his wings and Lenora was righted on his back as they again glided effortlessly above the clouds. She shook her head to bring her eyes into focus again.

_I never knew flying could be so exhilarating! What need do we have to land again?_

_My dear friend, _Eridor laughed, _there are still others within our company. We must continue to land lest we abandon them._

_Yet we are free as the birds that glide along beside us. We could go anywhere, become anyone; we are as yet still unknown in the world! _

_I never thought I'd hear such words from you Lenora. You are the one always talking of war and defeating the Empire._

_But I have never felt such liberation to choose what I wish to do. I have always been under the rule of one or another, always under the obligation to do my duty and fight. I am nothing more than a weapon, whether for the Varden or the Empire. There has never been a choice in the matter. We will—_

A sudden gigantic roar not far below them startled Eridor and he lurched slightly to the side.

_That was Saphira, what do you think happened? _Before Lenora could respond, the immense blue dragon and rider emerged through the cloud cover ahead, the ethereal vapors vanishing around their figure. Beads of water gleamed in Eragon's hair and dripped from Saphira's scales. The red glint of Zar'roc in the bright sunlight made Lenora instinctively reach for her own weapon but she paused in removing it from its sheath. Briefly forgetting her conversation with Eridor, she extended her mind and attempted to talk to Eragon. The protective walls of his mind were reinforced by those of Saphira and she had no chance of entering the fortress. However, no tendrils of fear or anger escaped his mind, emotions that usually could never be fully contained. Confused, she shouted out to him.

"Eragon, what's going on? Are there Urgals?"

His voice was normal but the order he issued was unpredicted. "Block your sword and prepare to duel!"

Vulnerable without something between herself and his blade, she grasped the hilt of her sword from the Empire's armory, releasing it from its scabbard. As she blocked it with the most rudimentary spell, Saphira dove toward them, teeth bared and snarling. Eridor rolled away from the attack with a surprised growl. Lenora heard the whistle above her head as one of the azure dragon's massive wings nearly decapitated her. Saphira spun around and Eragon brazened Zar'roc, challenging the other rider. Lenora lifted her sword in front of herself; waiting for the attack she knew would come. Even with the unforeseen initiation, she found that Eridor's still composed demeanor kept her calm. Since she had obtained her gedwëy ignasia, she had found that the familiar rage was not such a part of her daily life. After all, this was only a training session, right? They hung still in the air, the clouds helping to lessen the deafening reverberations of the dragons' beating wings.

Then Saphira lunged forward again, allowing Eragon near enough to attack. He swung his blade in a wide arc, giving Lenora more than enough time to react and block the attack, dealing several of her own to his torso. His blade veered to her right leg and she blocked it quickly. He was not only testing her midair fighting abilities, but also her emotions, knowing even a pseudo blow to her weakness would normally make her angry. It was almost odd to her how relaxed she was despite the action. Her mentality free of emotion, Lenora could focus on the task and deliver the attacks with more aptitude. Her blade was as swift as ever before and she could outpace her opponent. The swords clanged together and Lenora nearly lost her grip, unintentionally striking Saphira's side. The metal slipped harmlessly off her scales. While dueling on two fighting dragons was a challenge, without the constant pain in her leg, Lenora could see that she had a good chance of winning.

Regaining her bearing, Lenora made to stab Eragon's stomach, but he maneuvered in the saddle so she missed his body completely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the razor sharp teeth and felt the hot breath as the dragon reached around and made to bite her. Lenora leaned just far enough back on Eridor that Saphira was forced to pull back lest she fall out of position. Eridor tipped to recover her action, rolling and using his claws to contend with Saphira's blows. His own attacks, though deadly to any human, appeared to have little effect on Saphira's naturally armored belly. As they fell further beneath the pair, Saphira breathed deeply and spewed a stream of fire directed at them. Instantly spreading his wings wide, Eridor took advantage of a draft and the air carried him far from the flames.

_This is wild! _The young dragon commented in the slight pause in mayhem. _None of our fighting sessions have been this intense._

_I've noticed a great difference in how I fight alone and how I fight with you, dear friend, _Lenora said. A surge of audacity filled her as she was given a second to process this revelation._ Eridor, return to their side. I wish to try something, _

_Don't try anything foolish_, he replied, though she could sense he felt the same boldness through their link. They rode the thermal until they rose above their opponents and Eridor dove. With courage prompting the provocation, he let loose an intimidating snarl. Bringing his wings back, he filled them with air and slowed before they would crash into Saphira. Lenora brandished her blade this time and initiated the attack. Eragon hesitated only a fraction of a second, surprised by the change in role. It was all the time Lenora needed to thwart his defensive blow and deal the mock lethal blow, leaving the tip of her sword an inch from his throat. They rose and fell with the dragons' wing strokes in the intermittence.

"Dead," she declared proudly, smirking in his face. Still the haughty youngster, Eridor inhaled deeply and freed an immense roar of victory. To her disbelief, Eragon threw back his head and laughed heartily. Unsettled by his change in behavior, she lowered her blade and demanded, "What's so funny? You're vanquished, conquered, defeated fair and fair!"

Once he had recovered, he looked at her seriously. "You've been telling me since we met what a brilliant fighter you are, but I never realized just how impressive until now!" She raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"You've only just been bested yet again, what's so different this time? It was so painfully easy it was nearly embarrassing," she pointed out as they sheathed their blades and the dragons began to descend.

"That's exactly the point. You were right when you said you were the best, Lenora. It didn't take you more than a few minutes to defeat me and you haven't flown before a day in your life," Eragon replied, his voice unusually animated despite her condescending words. As they approached the ground, they touched down beside the group who had stopped while the riders fought. Eridor managed to alight more gracefully than his normal ungainly landing. Lenora dismounted, frowning at the regular pain that returned to her leg once she was on the ground, and began un-tacking her dragon.

_Eridor,_ Saphira said, getting the attention of the young dragon, _you were magnificent. _At her words, he puffed out his chest and his held his head higher. Lenora rolled her eyes as she struggled to remove his girth once his arrogance tightened the strap._ You were able to improvise no matter what we threw at you. With the both of you on our side, I doubt even Galbatorix could crush us. Once you know magic of course, Lenora, that will make all the difference in the world._

"So now you're on me about that too?" Lenora said, finally removing the warm saddle. Saphira's brilliant, almost eerie eyes swiveled toward her and a chill ran up Lenora's spine.

_You now choose to defy learning the ways of the dragon rider? _

_Nay Saphira, I only find that whenever I attempt to perform any spell besides dulling my sword, it never works, _she replied, exasperated.

_And after all your talk of never giving up, this is what you tell me? _ Her words struck a chord within Lenora. Though she knew the dragon was right, that she had so much as dismissed the aggravating attempts as the supernatural, she slipped back to resentment and anger.

_I don't give up, _she retorted. _Just because _your _wonderful rider can perform spells only an elf should be able to master, doesn't mean the rest of us can as well!_

_I do not ask for you to learn the complex spells of advanced ancient language. I only wish for you to embrace who you are. You are a dragon rider, Lenora. It's your destiny to be great! _

_But what if I don't want all of this? What if I don't want to fight for the Empire or the Varden? What then? If the Empire is defeated, we have no idea what will happen. If the Varden is conquered, then Galbatorix will destroy Alagaësia in no time. What if the answer lies elsewhere? _Never before had she voiced such honesty with her companions.

_Without you and Eridor, we would not have a chance either way. You must choose or you will never find your way in life. _

_I can find my way without everyone telling me what's wrong and what's right. I don't need your lectures, _she snapped. With a snort of disdain, Saphira turned away. Aggravated herself, Lenora limped off to the sparse trees. Near Furnost, the foliage had begun to grow denser. Sensing her irritation, Eridor followed, his great footprints beside those of his little rider. Not far ahead, she sat down among the roots of a tree and Eridor lay down softly next to her. Extending his neck, he gently laid his big head in her lap. Lenora smiled as she rubbed the scaly ridges along his eyes and he hummed.

_You wish to find your own way? _He asked.

_Aye but nay, _she replied. _I don't know everything, Eridor. I don't really know where I'm going, only that I've always been expected to fight. I'm not sure whether to defy these prospects or embrace them. _

Eridor closed his eyes for a moment before responding. _Everyone has a choice. We choose whether or not to walk, to eat, and to do as we're told. Sometimes we are given harder decisions to make, as you have. You have been under an oppressive rule that made these decisions for you and now that you are free, you do not know what to do. You need to decide what is best for you and what is best for the land. Which is more important in your heart? Were you meant to run from your problems or were you destined to make a difference?_

_Those are the very questions I've been trying to answer since you hatched, dear friend._

_Whatever you choose, I will support. I would follow you to the unknown lands past the borders of _Alagaësia.

_Actually, you'd be carrying me, but I understand, _she replied. He lifted his head and the rumbling laugh shook the trees.

_I'll wait for your decision, _he said. As he stood and left to join the rest, chips of bark scraped from the trees by his scales rained down around her. She watched the pieces fall to the ground and her eyes settled on a small pebble in a hollow of the roots. She picked it up and held it in her palm.

_If I can apply the same mental energy and strength I use while fighting into magic, it might just work. _Focusing her thoughts and mental power into the task, she forgot all else around her. She stared intently at the pebble, willing herself to believe she could do what was necessary. Her gedwëy ignasia began shining even before she pronounced the words. "Stenr rïsa," she said as clearly as possible. The oddsensation in her hand surprised her but what was more shocking was the pebble, which rose smoothly into the air above the glow of her rider's mark. She let it hover until it reached her eye level before she began to feel the onset of fatigue. _All magic requires energy, _she remembered. She let the pebble return to her hand, only slightly weary. Excited, she scanned the ground for something larger. Finding a fist-sized rock, she grasped it and again began the process.

--

By the time she emerged from the trees again, the sun had nearly completed its descent and a fire crackled in the middle of the group. Roran and Katrina lay asleep, while Eragon sat guard, leaning against Saphira. Eridor slept soundly opposite them.

"I was almost ready to go searching for you," Eragon said quietly. "What have you been doing all this time?"

Lenora nearly stumbled as she made her way over to her horse to collect her bedroll. "Practicing magic," she replied smartly, digging through her pack and pulling out what she needed.

Eragon's demeanor lifted. "You raised the pebble?"

"Not just the pebble. I lifted a rock the size of a small dog! I wish you had given me a few more words to work with; it would have been much more interesting."

"You've got to be careful, all—"

"All magic requires energy, I know. I was careful and took my time. Don't tell me what to do; I've been told long enough," she said as she limped over to Eridor and placed a hand on his wing tucked next to his side. His eye opened in a small slit and groggily, he lifted the wing. She lay down on the bedroll and was asleep before the membrane enclosed her in an emerald dream world.

--

_A large auditorium, thousands of unknown faces in rising platforms as if waiting for something. A stage encrusted in brilliant rubies and stones. People, no, dwarves, seated in a row on the stage, old and wizened. A podium topped with a brilliant gold helm. A single dwarf in the middle of the stage, handsomely dressed, accepting some great honor. Suddenly, the image panned back and behind the many dwarves and humans in the crowd, a masked archer, bow drawn tight with an arrow trained on the solitary dwarf onstage. A twang and the arrow was loosed. _

Lenora saw the events play out in an odd, vivid dream that appeared to make no sense. Yet an assassination was never a light matter and it was as if she had been a part of the occasion. She tossed and turned in her sleep, until a hand touched her shoulder and she woke with a start, yanking the knife from her boot. She saw Eragon jump back from her with his hands in the air.

"Whoa, I was only waking you up; you were having a nightmare!" Beads of sweat dripped into her eyes and she wiped them away. She noticed her hands were trembling.

"I think there's going to be a murder."

--

My longest chapter by far, I hope you all enjoyed it. A cliffhanger-I am evil and I love it. Lots of stuff in this chapter, but I have so many ideas, I just want to share them all. I hope this chapter satisfies most of you, so PLEASE review and I will update asap. (I had to reload this chap 3 times because the page breaks weren't showing up-sorry!)

Thanks to padfootROX, xewioso, Zutara-forever56, hpjedi1, ANGELOFTHEBLACKROSES, Alive4Ever and LULU for the reviews.


	20. Strategy

Chapter 19-Strategy

Since their recent return to Farthen Dûr, the Varden had been in a state of panic. Their fair leader, though in similar straits, had been much more cleverly contained. Now, in her sparse private quarters of the mountain, her stress had overthrown her modest, public image and Nasuada paced the stone room, her long dress floating smoothly across the floor behind her with a soft scuffing. Her people had little more resources than the less-fortunate residents of Dras-Leona. Those who had their own sources of wealth had contributed until they too had naught to give. The dwarves, against their ancient principles, had even considered selling some of their precious gems to surrounding cities and towns to fund the war preparations but most did not agree with the idea nor believe it would bring about the necessary supplies. While the lace monopoly was still going strong, Nasuada knew it was foolish to base the balance of the Varden on the end of a woven thread. Not to mention the resistance against such a practice. They were going to need more supplies and more soldiers, and more money to fund such changes.

After discussing their increasingly dire situation with Orrin and the Council of Elders prior to leaving Surda to little avail, the young woman now resorted to her sorcerers, Du Vrangr Gata. Jörmundur, second in command, sat before the leader, politely dismissing her agitation with a cool aura.. Though a part of the Council, Nasuada had instructed him to remain in her company in order to pass on the happenings to the other members without having to endure their aggravating and entrapping suggestions. However, even in her restless state, Nasuada dared not show how truly disturbed she was to anyone but the pale reflection she glanced in the small mirror on the table in the corner.

"Perhaps we should expand the lace production?" Jörmundur suggested calmly. "If Orrin spreads the manufacture to Teirm through caravans, we will surely make a large profit from such a wealthy city."

"Thank you, Jörmundur, but I have already proposed such an idea and for once, he seemed to come together and use his head. I had to agree with his reasoning that only a quarter of travelers have completed the journey completely, and those that did still talked of being hassled by thieves along the way," Nasuada said. "These are hard times and everyone is feeling the effects."

"We must use what we have from experience," Jörmundur suggested. "After all, Galbatorix will be implementing what he knows of our forces in order to defeat us. Why not turn it around on him? We have witnessed many of their tactics and weaponry. No doubt the Urgals will know more about it than any of the Varden, most of them having served on the opposite side before. As well, we should delve more deeply into their own battle tactics and see what we may be able to expand on ourselves. With their race being so suppressed and reviled, they must have developed many methods of their own with which to use in their defense."

"A good idea. One objective we must keep in mind are sheer numbers. If the increase of the Empire's armies are any indication of the size they may be this time around, there will be no doubt that we will not only need to augment our own, but intensify their training as Galbatorix no doubt already has. Any able-bodied men, dwarves and elves must aid us if we have any chance of building a substantial defense," Nasuada stressed this of importance.

"And what of our rider? Shouldn't Saphira, he and his cousin have returned by now?"

"I have confidence that should something have gone wrong, they would have returned as promptly as possible, if for nothing more than stronger forces of their own in order to defeat the Ra'zac," the leader said, finally pulling a chair from the desk and sitting, appearing as if nothing were troubling her. A smart knock sounded on the door and the two guards on opposite sides of the bejeweled wooden door raised their swords.

"Enter," Nasuada ordered. The squeak of the handle and the low grating of wood against stone filled the room. The door opened to reveal Trianna, leader of Du Vrangr Gata, standing in the threshold. With a quick wave of her hand, Nasuada ordered her guards to stand down. The magician took a few hesitant steps into the room.

"You wished to see me, my Lady?" Trianna asked, nodding toward Jörmundur in greeting.

"Aye Trianna, I would like to know what you and Du Vrangr Gata have been doing in preparation for the war? That is, other than the lace."

"You might be pleasantly surprised with what we have created."

"And what is it that you have in store?"

"It is a new breed of weapon. We have been focusing our efforts on this since we returned and we hoped that you would be one of the first to see it in operation."

With little other choice to aid her decision, Nasuada agreed. "Very well. Where is this weapon?"

"On the training fields, my Lady. It is rather too large for anywhere else."

With that, Nasuada rose from her seat and gestured for her companions to follow. Taking her place in the midst of her bodyguards, they began marching toward the training fields.

--

The rotors cranked smoothly, thick rope pulled taught, bringing a massive carved weight further into the air. Several dwarves, perspiration running from their brows and hands tightly grasping an individual peg, created the necessary torque that drew the arm of the machine closer to the ground. As the deerskin sling touched the dirt, one of the small men drew a peg from his pocket and slipped it into a slot near the front. Once that had been secured, another dwarf ran around the immense contraption and placed another peg in the machine on the opposite side of the sling. The weight swung precariously above, threatening its restraints to snap under the pressure. Only two ropes resisted the arm, secured with small pegs to be released at a moment's notice. Three new dwarves rolled a large, unnatural looking stone onto the sling, tightening the straps around the boulder to secure it.

"This contraption seems similar to the machines the Empire used during the battle of the Burning Plains. How is this one going to be any different?" Nasuada asked as she remembered Eragon telling her he had the Empire's magicians destroy many of these "rock-throwers" through mind control. She suppressed a shudder as the images of soldiers surrounding her, some still breathing and hanging onto life when half of them had been obliterated, had been crushing beneath many of heavy stones that fell from the sky.

"Trust me my Lady, this contraption is much more advanced than those of the Empire. Du Vrangr Gata has made some alterations that I believe you will find intriguing. We have been testing this model since we returned. We hope this will aid in our defeat of Galbatorix," Trianna replied with a smug smile upon her face. "Don't be so sure Trianna. We have yet to assemble the necessary forces and materials to construct an adequate resistance."

"Aye, but this is something very unlike anything we have made before. While we got the skeletal design from the mangled parts of the opposition, we believe a dozen of these may swing the outcome of the battle to our side."

Nasuada sighed. Their hope was great, but hope could only bring them so far. It was going to take numbers, and many more than last time to truly make a dent in the forces against them. "Let us see it in action then," she ordered. The small crowd that had formed during their brief conversation took a few hesitant steps back. At their action, Trianna placed a hand of Nasuada's shoulder.

"It expands when in motion. We should move back just in case," she warned. Nasuada turned and gracefully put a few more steps distance between herself and the machine. Trianna knew it was on her should Nasuada be injured by the machine she assigned to build, but said nothing more so as not to insult her ruler. To her relief, several of Nasuada's bodyguards positioned themselves between their charge and the machine.

The two dwarves to insert the pegs, approached the machine and on a quick count, pulled them from their slots. An instantaneous creaking occurred before the counterweight crashed to the base of the machine and the sling was ripped from the ground with such force that a gust of wind created a breeze upon the faces of the onlookers. The boulder rocketed from its sling and flew into the bright blue sky toward a long mound of earth that had been constructed as a target. Suddenly, the rock broke apart into several pieces from within emerged dozens of small projectiles. Nasuada contained her surprise and waited for the outcome. As the objects collided with the ground, brilliant white light rose from the earth at the points of impact and a moment later, the sounds of explosions met the ears of the shocked onlookers. The blasts continued as the shells fell, destroying the target until gaping holes shone through where the dirt had been piled. Dust rose from the ground in a great black cloud.

"Brace yourself, my Lady," Trianna suggested quickly. The yellow grass that covered the battlefield bowed toward them, pressed against the earth under a massive gale that approached them with frightening speed. The wind forced them each to take another step back, ruffling clothing and whipping loose hair about their faces. Many of them closed their eyes against the particles of dust that accompanied the reaction. Though impressed, Nasuada remained collected and turned to Trianna, ignoring the glances from her protectors in order to make sure she was alright.

"How does the weapon create such a large effect?" She inquired.

"Through use of magic, we have discovered numerous methods to contain energy we store inside the shells, using 'Brisignr' for this weapon, and more words from the ancient language for the others. Depending on the resistance or weight of the weapon, we can change the distance that the stone will be launched. We call this a 'trebuchet,'" Trianna stated proudly.

"How many of these do you have so far?"

"Naught but the one. We did not take the risk of wasting limited materials until we had gotten the permission to continue further. However, we have been working on more designs for the weapons. Explosions are only one of a multitude of options that we can create. We have plans for netting that will burn through whatever it covers, motion-tracking missiles for any of the Empire's own airborne weapons, and shells that can temporarily blind its victims, among others. This way, we can create these weapons ahead of time, thus allowing Du Vrangr Gata to save energy during the true battle instead of projecting our powers to such great distances. This time, we are better prepared."

"I see Eragon has improved our chances through a generous offer to extend his knowledge of the ancient language to Du Vrangr Gata," Nasuada commented. Trianna clenched her teeth bitterly, having not known that the information of her group's incompetence had spread, but acknowledged the remark.

"Aye, we would not have not progressed thus far without his guidance. We are in his debt." "As are we all, Trianna," Nasuada responded. "Now--" A voice cut her short and Nasuada turned to see Angela approaching.

"Lady Nasuada!" Angela called. Though Nasuada suppressed a protest for the witch's interruption, she gave a quick word to her guards to back down against the intrusion.

"Aye Angela, how fares Elva today?" Nasuada asked, knowing the witch to be protective of the child.

"Fine, fine. She's in the care of Solembum right now in the fields."

"Has she had any further episodes since Eragon removed the curse?"

"Nay, Nasuada, none. She is doing fine."

"What brings you to the training fields? Did you come to witness the trebuchet?"

"Ah, so that is what that wonderful contraption is called," she replied eagerly. "Actually, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I understand you have plans for expanding the production?"

"Nay, at least, not yet. We must test further the effectiveness of each weapon before we deem the machine to be created in numbers."

"May I make a suggestion?" Angela asked, continuing before receiving an approval. "I have a long list of nasty potions that could be contained in those shells as easily as your weapons. How do oozing flesh wounds and rotting limbs sound to you?"

"Lovely," Nasuada grimaced. "You have potions that will result in such injuries?"

"Aye, that and many more. Using ingredients from bird droppings, I can make some that will burn on contact, drive deep under the skin and eat a man from inside out, only stopping once--"

"Angela!" Nasuada said, placing a hand up for her to cease talking. She obliged, with a slightly dejected expression. The guards tensed at the sound but relaxed again quickly. "I have heard enough. Your potions will be greatly useful, however cruel and repulsive you make them out to be. Begin working on them immediately; we will need whatever we have."

"Not a problem, I enjoy what I do," Angela replied. "I will have more ready for testing in a few hours."

"What do you suggest we test these vicious potions on?" Nasuada asked, curious as to the witch's answer.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Angela said before turning and heading off to the opposite side of the training fields while humming merrily.

--

I know I deserve to be strapped to a chair and forced to write but here's my expected excuse-a chapter without any of the characters I normally include is much harder to write, AND I had to figure out what this "strategy" should be. In all honesty, I have not been as dedicated as I should have been, despite what I've been saying. With not much else to do, I will sit down and write, so please don't abandon me! I will be updating soon (NOT another 5 or 6 weeks from now). Thanks to Lulu, J. Dunkan, ErFan101, Xewioso, Alice4Ever, padfootROX, N.C. FIREFIGHTER-CHICK and Smiley Sun for the reviews-Keep reading and reviewing!


	21. Throe

**Chapter 20-Throe**

_Eragon stared at Lenora with an odd expression. "What do you mean, 'there's going to be a murder?'" _

"_I saw it in the dream. It was so incredibly clear; it was as if I were there, watching it unfold," Lenora responded, the mist that formed in the crisp air as she spoke reflected in the moonlight. Eridor had lifted his wing off of her once he had felt the effects of the dream in his own mind, and asked Eragon to wake his rider when he had been unable to converse with her due to the mental barriers she reinforced while she slept._

_You know better than most that a rider's dreams can become reality Eragon. Perhaps you should ask if you can view the memory of the dream? _Saphira suggested.

Eragon repeated the request to the rider. Despite her groggy state from just waking, Lenora's expression took on a look of offense. Where she allowed this emotion to show on her features, she kept hidden that of anxiety, knowing that, even with the great strength of a dragon to fortify her mental walls, Eragon had the larger of the two dragons and could easily search through her memories once inside where Lenora would have no control over the memories he could witness. Despite all he had revealed to her, she refused to place that much trust in him. "That is more than a small request Eragon." Having grown in not only size, but wisdom as well, Eridor had observed the years worth of memories Lenora could not keep contained from a partner of the soul itself, and knew at once why she attempted to deny the offer.

"Why should you be so nervous as to broaden your mind and allow me to see the dream? We could then much more easily determine if it were a premonition or simply a trick of the mind," he stated logically. She tried to think quickly as to what to say that would not seem suspicious but allow her to remain on their good side.

_I know you do not wish for your origins to be revealed Lenora, but this could be a matter of life and death. For all we know, this could be a rider's premonition and we are the ones to solve the mystery shrouded in the dream, _Eridor reminded her.

_I realize there is a certain importance associated with this, but there are other ways to explain to him what I saw. I could just tell him, _she said, attempting to avoid such a predicament.

_Explaining would not reveal the details I glimpsed when the dream transferred to me after you opened your mind again. They are bound to figure out the truth in a matter of time. However, if you are so concerned, ask Eragon if you can project the memory to him instead of subjecting yourself to his mind._

_That would be the only option I see available under the circumstances, _Lenora said before turning to Eragon. "Is there a way I could project the dream into your mind?" At his hesitation, she quickly redeemed herself. "I've been under the mutiny of many a cruel mind in my time with the Empire. I would feel more comfortable if I were able to transfer my memories into your mind instead of open myself to yours." _It would appear our fellow Shur'tugal doesn't yet trust us, _Saphira remarked. _Almost as if she were hiding something…_

_Aye, _Eragon replied. _She has been more than a little dubious in her time with us. I sense that she holds back information whenever we converse._

_Either way, we need to see the memory. As much information as she has provided us with thus far, it would be unwise to trust her completely in such a vulnerable position. I shall shield your mind from everything but the memory. If I sense an attempted breach in the barriers, we should resort to magic for she does not yet know how to shield herself from spells, _Saphira responded, sensing an dire importance coming from Eridor's mind.

"Alright, I will open my mind and allow you to plant the dream inside my barriers. You must try to remember every detail of the dream and reconstruct that when you project it otherwise vital information could be lost in the transfer," he said, watching Lenora closely in order to determine whether there were other motives in place. She nodded and closed her eyes in preparation. Seeing nothing to further his suspicion, he did the same and opened his mind to Saphira first. She immediately began constructing mental walls of diamond surrounding everything but the outermost reaches of Eragon's receptive mind which he then reinforced with layers of hard stone.

When they had reached an unspoken completion, Eragon told Lenora aloud that he was ready. Given an ample amount of time to organize her memory, Lenora's mental probe entered his mind. She noticed the extra security they had both created and thought to herself that they were no more trusting of her than she was of them.

Though her entrance had been subtle, Eragon could feel her probe was heavily defended with cruel emerald barbs and something that could cause immense destruction with a few deliberate thrusts of the mind. He was grateful of his close connection with Saphira and their abilities to link themselves so intimately within each other's minds. Without taking more time than necessary, the probe began to shudder and the thorns parted.

Suddenly, his mind filled with the vision of the dream. Upon seeing the many jeweled pillars and artificial light from above, Eragon realized it was an image of Farthen Dûr, in the midst of a coronation from the crown he quickly glimpsed upon a podium with his keen elven eyes. The next detail he noticed, though something not unexpected, still brought a surge of pride for his friend. Orik, the dwarf who had accepted both he and Saphira from the moment they had so ungraciously entered the city of Tronjheim for the first time, stood upon the platform, opposite a row of elder dwarves in front of thousands of viewers. He was dressed handsomely himself in grand robes with ruby accents and large, bulky rings upon several fingers with dwarven runes engraved in the jewels of each. However, when the image moved back and he had a distinct view of an archer that was hidden behind the platforms of spectators, his heart jumped. A mask covered the archer's face and even Saphira's eyes couldn't make out many more details in the darkness beyond that of a lone arrow, pointed toward their friend onstage. As the weapon was loosed, the memory faded and they were left with a foreboding feeling.

When they came out of the dream, Lenora's probe had already pulled back from his mind and she sat, watching them for a reaction. As Eragon opened his eyes once again with a look of great apprehension, she couldn't resist asking.

"What is it? Do you know what it means?"

The rider hesitated, unsure of whether to tell her. Finally coming to a conclusion, he knew that more likely than not, Lenora could prove useful in their later travels and solving this certain anonymity. "Aye…the dwarf is a friend of us. We met him when we first traveled to the Varden a couple years ago. However, I do not know about this archer, and I have not received news of Orik's coronation as King. Had this already happened, we would surely know, were we in Surda or the middle of the Hadarac. I doubt the Varden will quietly tolerate any more assassinations at the hand of the Empire," Eragon replied, his tone growing more vehement as he remembered Murtagh's shameless murder of Hrothgar only a few weeks previously. Noticing this, Lenora became more curious.

"What are we going to do?" Before she had even finished the question, Eragon had stood from her side and picked up his bedroll, shoving it in the packs along with the other supplies they had laid out the night previously for food. His face held a faint look of worry but a fierce determination prevailed. Roran and Katrina had been wakened, and Roran grasped his hammer edgily when he saw Eragon's agitation.

"We travel to Farthen Dûr immediately. We cannot waste time; Orik's life could depend upon us reaching him in time. We can only hope we aren't too late."

--

They soon realized that with four people and horses and only two dragons, the trip would not be as quick as they would have liked. While they could release the horses in order to fly, Saphira was able to carry three comfortably but with supplies she was burdened and could only manage two. Eridor could still only carry one rider and supplies where out of the question. This backed them into a tight corner where they had no other option than to ride by horseback to the mountain or until Eridor experienced another growth spurt, for they were quickly approaching the stretch of desert during which their supplies would prove more vital than ever. They had dismissed the idea of splitting up to allow one of the riders to continue on as Eragon refused to leave his cousin and Katrina behind, and he knew that Lenora would not be readily accepted into the mountain without Eragon being there to support her claims.

Due to this quandary, Eragon had them racing their horses across the land, pushing them to their very limits while Saphira and Eridor were regularly sent ahead to inform them of their location in respect to the Beor Mountains. They were constantly conversing with their riders, scanning for potential shortcuts or places where they would be delayed should they choose a certain route. Despite this desperate race, Eragon still believed Lenora's training to be essential and continued teaching her words from the ancient language throughout the day. By the end of the first day, on the edge of the desert, Eragon didn't show any signs of slowing or allowing the group to rest for the night.

"Eragon, I know this is may be difficult for you, but if we push the horses much further, they will not survive, especially in this heat," Lenora said, wiping the sweat from the back of her neck with a swipe of her hand. "They can only go so long at a time at this pace. If we lose them, we will have no way to arrive in time unless we leave someone behind." As much as Eragon wished to deny her sound explanations, when he looked back at her to respond he noticed that her trained war-horse, the strongest of the mounts, was foaming at the mouth and drenched in a film of sweat. Pulling on the reins to slow his own fatigued horse, he consented.

"Alright, we stop for the night. But no one is sleeping in tomorrow; we must arrive before it is too late. Orik's life could depend on our swiftness," he said, dismounting. "As we are in the desert, there is no better place to stop than where we are now." Roran and Katrina did likewise and began unpacking their supplies, grateful for a respite from the hard riding as neither were used to constant travel. The dragons drifted down from the skies above after their riders informed them of their plans. The horses were un-tacked and Eragon conjured water from the sand for them and the dragons to drink, keeping up the steady flow of magic until both water skins had been refilled as well. After a quick meal and feeding the horses the grasses they had collected before entered the sea of sand, Eragon agreed to stay up and stand guard for the night while the rest fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

--

In the early morning hours, as the sun had barely begun to creep upon the horizon and light the sky with it's incessant burning rays, Eragon was awaken from the meditative state he had fallen into by the thrumming of wings. He quickly checked to make sure both dragons lay sleeping in the sand before him, then cast his eyes to the sky once again. Through the inky blackness only an elf's eyes could penetrate, he saw something that jarred a nerve within him. Anger welled in his soul, growing and manifesting itself in his mind as the creature drew nearer. Awoken by the overwhelming sense of rage that flowed from her rider, Saphira lifted her head. Before she could ask what bothered him, she too caught the movement in the sky and stood suddenly, readying herself to fight. Upon seeing the dragon and rider on the ground, the Lethrblaka let loose its piecing screech, waking the rest of the group.

"How did they find us?" Roran demanded, realizing at once where the sound came from, despite being unable to see anything. He held Katrina close, in whose eyes shone a look of retribution for the treatment she had endured. Roran's expression was that of protection, the willingness to give his life for his lover should the need arise.

"I know not, but there's only two of them now. As Saphira and I are the only ones who can even see them clearly at this point, we will do what we can to hold them off. In the meantime, take whatever measures you can to ensure your own survival. If they happen to get away from us or we are defeated, well, Lenora, I'm sure you and Eridor can finish them," he said while quickly strapping Saphira's saddle to her back and buckling his sword to the magnificent Beloth the Wise, which he and Saphira had been storing power in since they had left Surda. Now completely full, it would prove vital in this fight for the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka were at their strongest in the dark of night and far from water.

Lenora refused to accept such an act of self-sacrifice when there were other options. "You can't just go out and fight them until you die, Eragon. You know you are needed more than any other rider in Alagaësia. Let us help you. You've forgotten that as a rider myself, I can see as well as Eridor when we are one." Eragon turned to her with a dark look in his eyes that even she could see in the dawn. They held a look of strong vengeance that bordered unbalanced. She realized this must be a personal vendetta against the creatures for some crime they must have committed that had affected him deeply. "Lenora, this is not just a fight. These creatures killed my Uncle and I intend to make them pay with their blood," he said, tightening the last strap around Saphira's girth and climbing on her back. The Lethrblaka had approached them and flew in lazy circles above the group. The Ra'zac's hiss reached them upon the ground.

"Ssssso, the dragon hasss hatched," it commented, seeing Eridor on the ground, who growled his disapproval of the creatures. "And it issss large already. Thissss may be a better fight than we imagined, rider."

"This is between you and me, so leave them out of this," Eragon called to the human-like creature above him. "Let's finish this once and for all." At his words, Saphira launched herself from the ground with an angry roar and blew a flame at the Lethrblaka. Though they were able to dodge the attack, the light from the hot flames revealed the Ra'zac to have regrown an appendage where the arm had been severed by Saphira's tail.

"Amazing, isss it not?" the creature taunted, flexing its new muscles. "The King wassss ssso kind assss to regenerate it for me jusssst for thissss purpossse. You are not the only onesss who want revenge, rider." Suddenly, the foot-long blade shot from the creature's arm as its mount dove toward them. Saphira moved to the side so that when Eragon's sword came in contact with the blade, the metal screeched along the length of the blade as it was whisked past harmlessly. The Lethrblaka wheeled around and came at them again, brandishing both blades this time, clicking angrily. Though each side had something to fight for, both the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka had recently lost two of their companions at the hands of the opposition and thus fought fiercely to reclaim their pride. Eragon found that despite the years he had spent loathing these creatures due to their actions, it was true that they actually cared for others of their kind. The rider would have respected their valiant attempts to avenge their fallen companions deaths had they not done the same to him previously.

The creatures came again at them, and as the blades clashed together, the Lethrblaka lashed toward Saphira with its enormous foul beak. Though the fetid breath of the Ra'zac had affected him as a human, Eragon found that it no longer had quite the effect now that he was half-elf. Saphira lurched to the side to avoid a nasty bite, raking her claws against the Lethrblaka where the scars of her previous attacks shone faintly in the growing light. The creature stayed out of reach, two deadly battles between riders and mounts ensuing further. Due to the insistence of each side, the battle was long and closely matched. While the Empire's minions had time to recover and had raw instinct and tactics to defend and fight with, Eragon and Saphira had a size advantage and a more intimate bond that allowed them to counteract any attacks with swift ease and grace. The fight from the ground looked almost like a choreographed dance. However, as the darkness began to seep away with the encroaching dawn, the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka knew the were becoming more disadvantaged. After Eragon lunged toward the creatures without finding purchase with his blade embedded in their flesh, the Lethrblaka used its most effective tactic and once again, Eragon was hindered by his sensitive hearing as his ears felt as if they were on fire from the screech that met them. Saphira began twisting in the air, she too affected by the sound. Although the sound had already manifested itself in her head as a deep and throbbing headache, Lenora knew she had to take action as the Ra'zac took the opportunity and made an advance toward the incapacitated dragon and rider.

_Eridor, we must help them! _she yelled to her dragon mentally. She knew the sound hurt him as well, but in a desperate time, they had to do what was necessary. Before her, she saw the dragon crouch, holding his head against the ground in an effort to dispel the sound from his own ears. She rose from the ground unsteadily and limped over to him, using his front leg to mount and swing over his back. _You can do this Eridor. They are going to die if we don't._

_Hold on then, _he responded forcibly. It seemed that the noise affected him more than his rider due to his enhanced hearing. He lifted his wings and leaped from the ground, swaying slightly. As she unsheathed her blade, Lenora looked down and could make out the forms of Roran and Katrina on the ground but her gaze broke as Eridor roared and tried to attack the Lethrblaka, ending up brushing past them but Lenora felt the clang of the Ra'zac's blade on her own.

_Eridor, can you get around them? I just need to clean shot to the front, _she said before realizing the pain that came from his head. She saw tiny drops falling to the earth and noticed the blood that fell from her dragon's ears. _Eridor, are you alright? Have you been hurt?_

_Nay, _he said, _but that noise affects me greatly. I know not whether I can fly much longer. _Lenora's jaw set; she knew what she was about to do was risky but she also knew that without it, they could very well lose to the creatures.

"Tuatha du nuesta," temper the noise, she said carefully, remembering the words Eragon had taught her that day. Instead of the fatigue that normally accompanied the use of magic, Lenora experienced something quite different. Raw agony erupted from her leg and spread through her body like never before. Pain, worse than that from the incident that caused her limp, entered her mind and flooded her thoughts, blinding her and blocking out all sound. As she grasped her leg, she didn't hear the roar from her dragon as he felt some of the pain reach him through their link. Nothing existed but anguish and she couldn't stop the screams that escaped her in a void of tormenting pain that surpassed any suffering Galbatorix had ever put her through before. Then, the blackness stole her from the agony and she knew no more, unable to see whether or not she had made the difference she needed in the fight.

--

**Review threats are back! laughs evilly No update until I receive at least 7 reviews for this chapter. Ancient language disclaimer: I made up the word for noise, but the others are Paolini's. Thanks to lulu, amber, padfootROX and fresh blood for the reviews and please, if you have an account, sign in so I can reply directly to your reviews and questions.**


	22. Revelations

Chapter 21-Revelations

Eragon had heard the words of the ancient language spoken and watched as Lenora experienced a mysterious convulsion of pain that soon transferred to her dragon. He hadn't intended for her to put the magic to use so early on when he knew she was not strong enough to use certain spells, but she seemed to be experiencing an effect not normally associated with the use of the ancient language. While the magic seemed to have no influence on the crippling sound, the thrashing emerald dragon had lost all awareness of his surroundings and had crashed into the Lethrblaka, ceasing the screech. While the creature focused its next assault upon Eridor, this created the distraction Saphira needed to attack, burying her claws in the body of the bat and driving her teeth deep into its neck, while Eragon thrust his sword through the back of the Ra'zac. Unable to utter any last protests to its enemies, both sire and son auspiciously remained silent as they fell to their deaths, landing with a sickening crash near Katrina and Roran, who let out a cry of victory over the creatures who had murdered his father and kidnapped his bride-to-be.

"I told them they would taste their own blood before all was over!" he exclaimed. From his position on the ground, he could not tell what had happened to the emerald rider.

After the defeat of the creatures that had caused Eragon so much pain over the years, all he wished to do was celebrate their triumph but found it would be impossible due to the condition their fellow Shur'tugal was in. Once the deed had been completed, Eragon glanced over at the duo to see Lenora slumped in the saddle. Had her dragon not been freed from the pain once she had lost consciousness, she too would have fallen to her death. He tried to contact Eridor to tell him to land, but the dragon had erected strong mental barriers to ward off the pain once it had hit him with a gale force.

"Eridor!" Eragon yelled, seeing the emerald head snap toward him, "Land now, we must take care of your rider." The dragon glanced behind at Lenora on his back and began to descend slowly, taking care not to tip the rider off his back. Eragon and Saphira followed, impressed when they saw the young dragon land gracefully on the ground, for he had not been able to do so before. His head snaked around and grasped the back of Lenora's tunic, lowering her down to the dirt. His own muscles trembled from the shock of the previous agony but he soon lessened the barriers surrounding his mind to speak to Eragon.

What happened? the dragon asked. From what Lenora has told me of the ancient language, it should_ not cause pain, only fatigue. She has used magic before, why should this be any different?_

_I know not, Eridor. She used a greater amount of magic, but this shouldn't have happened; I have seen nothing like this in effect after the use of the ancient language. _the rider replied. He paused slightly, looking directly into the eerie green eyes within swirled a fire that ran deep into the dragon's soul. _I need to determine what happened to her and if necessary, heal her wounds. _

_But I felt no external damage, _the dragon said, aware of what Eragon was requesting of him. _Shouldn't it have been passed through our link should she have experienced anything similar?_

_Nay. While you were able to feel pain, I believe the entire effect would lesson the ability to feel individual wounds, even after she fell into darkness. The shock may be keeping your body from registering distinct injuries._

Eridor mulled over the words but soon came to the same conclusion. Not willing to risk his rider's well-being, he consented.

_You may examine her. But allow her some decency or I will be forced to erase your memory using naught but my tail, _he said, waving the spiked appendage pointedly, knowing that Lenora would be under scrutiny and at Eragon's mercy. The blue rider recognized the threat, realizing that since Eridor had grown so rapidly, he had already taken on the draconic role of protector over his rider. While Eragon hardly saw this as necessary, for Lenora could handle her own in most cases, he remembered when his dragon had done the same for him.

_He would do well not to threaten my rider as well for he could too could find himself on the receiving end of a nasty attack, _Saphira remarked.

Smiling at her retort, Eragon then turned to the unconscious rider, knowing time was of the essence. While it was difficult to recognize whether she had been wounded from the fight with the Ra'zac, it had been brief and he doubted whether she had been touched with the blade. But with the reaction he witnessed, he doubted whether she had left the encounter unscathed. Curiosity made the other two approach the Shur'tugal's prone form. Keeping in mind Eridor's none-too-subtle warning, Eragon bent to examine Lenora. What he saw surprised him.

Though she had sometimes gone with only her breeches and leather vest when they had fought previously, he had never seen her skin up close. Even with his elven eyes, he had never been focused on any aspect of her physical being for he had been too occupied trying to keep her attacks from contacting his body and lessening his own movements so as not to seriously harm her. In the bone-chilling night of the Hadarac desert, she had taken her old tunic and worn it underneath one of the new articles of clothing she had acquired in Dras-Leona, over which she had secured her regular vest, old tattered cloak and breeches. Layers of scars, welts and faint bruises made up the majority of the area he could see on her wrists. Though she had hinted at her abuse within the castle, she had never told him outright the torture that was evidenced to him now. Her face bore a long, thin scar across one cheek from a knife blade and the skin under her eyes was dark. He pushed the sleeve of the thin tunic further up her arm to reveal many more similar punishments. Though the wounds were old, and some appeared to have been magically healed to a point, it was plain that she endured such treatment on a regular basis. Katrina gasped, unable to voice her horror, and apprehension filled Eragon's eyes as he unfastened the vest and outer tunic. War-hardened Roran watched the process unfold silently. The top of the tunic sleeves Lenora had worn since they had met were ragged, seemingly cut off by her own dagger. The true severity of the damage was revealed in an instant.

He could make out the ghost of a burn on her left arm, welts rose like smooth mountain ranges from her skin where blades had sliced cleanly through. Carefully, he rolled her over and slipped off the outer layers of clothing, leaving her in the sleeveless tunic and leather breeches, Eridor watching intently the whole time. Though the dragon knew of these scars, he also knew that Lenora's great pride that would never allow her to confess the truth. Without control of the magic that ran through his veins, Eridor had been unable to heal any of the old scars. But he hoped that Eragon could make a difference, however slight it may be, to help cure the painful wounds that covered Lenora's body.

_Eridor, has she always had these?_

_Most of them, aye. They came from her time within the Empire, _the dragon replied.

Eragon lifted the back of the tunic and was met with hundreds of welts running haphazardly across her back. Whippings, some a decade old, many of which were left to heal on their own, most likely as punishment. Though shocked at the sight, he lifted his gedwëy ignasia to heal the wounds.

"Waíseheill," he muttered. To his surprise, nothing more happened than the disappearance of a few newer wounds. He tried again, but the magic seemed nearly useless.

_These wounds are so old that my magic has no effect. They have healed but it seems that no amount of magic will make a difference. I can heal deep, gouging wounds and injuries that have not yet healed, but these I cannot mend._

_You did what you could, Eragon. Thank you for trying. I request that you look at her leg, for although she doesn't admit it, it still causes her great pain, _Eridor said. In his eyes shone not sympathy for his rider, as he had long since learned that it was never helpful, but a pleading look that asked for Lenora to be free of her daily pain that she masked behind her anger.

Eragon nodded, and continued healing the wounds that were still fresh before rolling the pant leg up on her right side. Of all the wounds, this was the most grotesque. Eragon could immediately tell that it had been worked on magically, not only from the strong magic that stemmed from the limb, but because there were large protrusions of bone that had previously pierced the skin but which had been mended some time before. He tried to work his own healing magic, but even with the ability to stitch the muscles back together and reconnect vital veins, he could not make a difference. The wound had manifested itself deep into her being and it refused to be restored back to its original form. All it took was an apologetic glance and the dragon understood.

As much as Eragon tried to deny the conclusions he drew from his discovery, some aspects of her personality were explained in this revelation of her past. Not many individuals would be able to endure such handling and become a benevolent person. He guessed that her father had encountered many times where Lenora refused what he wished her to do. Eragon fought the tendency to see her differently, to not pity her. She deserved better than pity, which was why she never allowed him to see what she tolerated. Still, it remained a mystery as to why she had fallen into the bought of pain after the use of magic. As he finished his work, he tied his horse behind them, lifted Lenora onto her horse and mounted the stallion behind her to hold the rider upright. Roran and Katrina had tacked up and were waiting as they once again, began another long day of travel.

--

Rhyanon walked down the hallways of the castle, wringing her hands together nervously. Once she had felt the tingling sensation, she had left the healers' quarters quickly, leaving the cold glances of her partners behind. Sweat ran down her thick neck, rolling under her tunic made from some of the finest cloth in Alagaësia. She knew the way to the Great Hall but had taken it only several times before. The first had been when the Red Rider had been captured a second time. The second was when that girl had been brought to the castle after the guards had captured her and caused her to break her leg most severely. Now…well, now was different. Now, not only was she going of her own accord, but now she didn't have any idea how it might turn out. The only way to determine the outcome was to go through with it. And so Rhyanon walked. Up a flight of stairs, past the kitchens and the southwest wing guards' quarters, through the darkened passageways where few rooms were still in use, until finally she approached the double doors. Guards stood still, barring the passage of anyone not permitted. A request was called to her to state her name and business, but from which of the men, she knew not.

"Rhyanon, magical healer," she said cautiously. "I-I have come regarding a confidential matter between his Majesty and myself." Though she had come to this room before, it had never been unannounced. She was unsure of how the decorated guards would react to her proclamation, but saw, to her relief, one of the men nearest to the door relay her words to another through a slot in the wooden structure. Then footsteps coming from within the opposite room and words were exchanged that were too distant to be heard distinctly. Returning footsteps. With every second, she began to doubt her decision to come more than the moment before. Her hands trembled as she grasped them together, ineffectively trying to still them. The slot slid back and a new voice came through, telling her she was to enter. On cue, the rest of the guards arranged themselves along the walls, allowing her to pass through the threshold.

She stepped into the intimidating room, glancing around her as if something were threatening to leap from the shadows. She had learned from her brief time in the room before that the King loved to incite fear in his subjects. This was how he had ruled for centuries. Strike fear into the enemy's heart and you will already have the advantage. Without hatred, he would not have prevailed and reigned over Alagaësia for longer than any King prior. Rhyanon was no exception. She feared the King because she was smart. Thus, the healer never knew what to expect when she entered the room, only that she would neither forget nor enjoy whatever transpired. One thing she would never forget was that voice. It was as if a snake possessed the King, leaving dark memories burned into her mind for weeks after. It was that very voice that slithered through the darkness to meet her ears, coiling about them evilly.

"You have felt the effect of the spell, I presume?" Galbatorix sneered. Rhyanon nodded, neither knowing nor caring whether the King could see her reply. Though it appeared he had with what followed, she could sense the anger in his words. "Step forward into the light. I wish to look into your eyes as I speak." Carefully, she approached the pool of torchlight before the King, kneeling as she approached. "Get up, we don't have time for pleasantries," he ordered. "Has the spell worked or has it not?"

"Your highness, I admit, I only worked the spell to send me notice when it has been successful for a particular instance. There is no way of constructing the words to make certain that it has done what you intended." At her words, he turned to a small dish of water.

"Draumr kópa." To Rhyanon's great surprise, after inspecting the picture that formed in the water, the King inclined his head calmly instead of yelling at her incompetence or threatening her with her life should she fail to design the spell he needed. The silence was perhaps worse; a dangerously calm look had crossed his features.

"Very well. You may return to your quarters and continue to provide me with the information whenever you happen to sense it has again taken effect," he said. Rhyanon sighed slightly; he had not allowed his temper to control his actions. As she bowed and turned to leave, the voice stopped her. "Should you happen to inform me at the wrong time, Rhyanon, there will be dire consequences." She shuddered, knowing exactly what the consequences would be.

--

"I thought I said no one was to sleep in?" Eragon said with a grin on his face when Lenora finally opened her eyes. She groaned at his perky attitude, every inch of her still aching. She took a moment to recognize she was on horseback, except she and Eragon were riding the same horse.

"What do you think you're doing? Just because you're some great rider doesn't mean you can always woo women with your heroics," she said, trying to make her hands function enough to grab the reins from Eragon. After having saved Lenora from further damage, this was not the reaction he had hoped for.

"Do you even know what happened? While you go off and try to perform magic you shouldn't even be dreaming of casting at this point in the middle of a fight, I have to save your sorry behind from getting chomped on by the Lethrblaka when you suddenly fall into a fit of pain."

"Well, you defeated them, didn't you?" she asked, knowing that was his only objective in the first place.

"Aye, but--" he started.

"Well there you have it," she interrupted. "You defeated them, and that's all that matters. Now forget about everything else and move on. Besides, aren't we on a rescue mission?" He paused, knowing bringing up the healing process would be unwise. With that, she elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to lose his breath for a moment. "Get on your own horse. The charger's mine, remember?"

--

**I'm going to start answering anonymous review questions in my author's note from now on:**

**Lulu: I hope this chapter at least partially answers your questions. I wanted to keep it slightly mysterious though so I can't answer your questions completely. Thanks for the reviews so far.**

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**Super-hero Fan**


	23. Conflicted

**Chapter 22-Conflicted**

Arya was not normally one to show emotion. Similar to most of the other elves, she chose to instead hide her feelings behind a mask. For all the pleasantries her people exchanged, one would never know just how emotional the elves could be. There were those few that took on another role and gave the elves another perspective, voicing their emotions as they changed like any human. These were the people that laughed, cried and yelled in public. These elves Arya had made an effort to give a wide berth. She would never allow such a weakness to be seen in front of others. But she was not always this way.

In her home, free from the image her culture imposed upon her, she was free to act as she wished. No tedious greetings, no concealing what she felt. In her home, she was not the Queen's daughter. She was Arya, the fair elf who still loved Faolin, felt guilty for caring for Eragon, didn't wish to take the throne, despised the idea of her mother's reaction to this decision, and who still debated whether or not she had made the right choice to send Saphira to Carvahall. It was safe to say that Arya was, at the least, conflicted.

Faolin. That handsome elf who loved her like no one ever had. Around Faolin, Arya felt like a completely different person. He was her best friend, her lover and the only one who didn't treat her differently. Around Faolin, she lost all control and began feeling more like a clumsy human rather than a graceful elf. Around Faolin, she could lose track of time and spend hours on end just talking about nothing. Indeed, he had been the sole elf to not treat her like royalty, which make her quiver with pleasure and a new sense of respect. The respect to be seen as just another. Instead of a level above, they were equals through and through. He was one to challenge the things she said that he didn't agree with instead of pass over the detail for fear of what consequences would result from behavior toward the princess. He was the one that, despite the elves' tradition to solely pair as mates for a time, asked Arya to spend her life at his side. He was the only one she would have agreed to such terms should he have lived. Faolin was completely unique, and that was what was so exciting. It was what made it so difficult for Arya to remember his death, shot down by Urgal arrows on that fateful night.

Now Eragon was a different story entirely. She could sense some of the similar boldness within him, but it was not the same. Though she knew no one would never be the same, she tried to reason with herself to conclude that she shouldn't judge others in comparison to her late love. Yet she found herself doing this very thing when she looked at Eragon. The human was hardly more than a child in age, and his views of the world were still limited, but his heart was large. When she was sure he had just had enough endlessly pining after her, knowing her to be unavailable to him, he continued his quest to gain her attraction. And despite those many times to impose upon Eragon that she was never interested, she had found, over the months, she had grown to care for him. She didn't quite know whether or not this was a desire for his love, or that she simply pitied the boy and had grown to see him like a close friend. Nevertheless, she would continue to keep her love for Faolin from Eragon as it would be a burden. Part of her wished for the rider to find a partner of his own so that she would be free to put her feelings aside, knowing her subconscious pining would then forever be unfitting.

And the egg. She had reminisced over her actions that night since she had discovered who Saphira had hatched for. Not that she necessarily regretted her decision, for the dragon may very well have not hatched for anyone but Eragon, but she wondered, if given the chance, would the egg have hatched for someone else? She would never know now. Should she have hatched for an elf, their chances for defeating the Empire would be tenfold. But then, she didn't rightly know. Since his transformation at the Agaetí Blödhren, Eragon had taken on the role of half-elf rather gracefully and had proven himself against Vanir, among other elves in his fighting expertise. Though his wisdom was naught in comparison to the ancient knowledge of the elves, he had acquired an early sense of intelligence through his travels and participation in battles, not to mention the insight imparted upon him from Saphira. Perhaps he would make a suitable rider, but he would have to prove himself when it came for him to fight Galbatorix. This battle was fast approaching and it could land upon the elves to make up for the lack of numbers for the Varden.

Her people were in disarray. Or as close to disarray as elves could manage. Not since the war with the dragons had they engaged in battle. They had lived peacefully for centuries in Ellesméra, ignoring the foolish humans' claims of cowardice. After all, it had been them who had brought this anarchy upon themselves. The elves knew from the beginning that with only a single human to rule all of Alagaësia, the power would soon break his weak mind. With the noticeable lack of government within the Empire, the elves had known it was only a matter of time before something similar was bound to happen. Humans were never satisfied.

Arya's thoughts were interrupted by a swift knock on the treehouse door. She opened it to a messenger.

"Princess Arya, Queen Islanzadi requests your presence," he said, after they had exchanged the proper greetings. "She wishes you to be swift."

"Thank you," she said, touching her lips with two fingers in goodbye, dismissing the messenger. Once the door had closed, Arya's eyes narrowed. She had seen her mother but a few days prior, and she could tell the Queen was not faring as well as she used to be. With this urgent call for Arya's attendance, she knew it was not for idle banter. Her lips formed a thin line as the princess settled her mind. As soon as she saw the messenger descend the last few steps from her home and exit the tree, Arya tossed open the door and was gone, swift as a deer.

--

It took but a few minutes for Arya to reach Islanzadi's grand home. Within the finest parts of Ellesméra, the Queen's home was among the finest of craftsmanship, sung from the surrounding trees into a structure quite unlike anything else in Du Weldenvarden. Though of a similar nature, these trees blossomed light rose colored petals, tipped with black. Vines of subtle greens wound themselves about the trees, into the window openings, from which lightly dangled the most succulent berries in the forest to be plucked whenever one wished for something delicious to add to their meal. Birds of brilliant plumages nested in the branches above the home, squirrels and rabbits found comfortable homes in the roots beneath the structure. A small stream ran alongside these trees, adding a soft bubbling to the serenity of the clearing. This was the largest home sung from nature and rested on a platform of roots for it was far too large to be sung into the branches of any tree.

Arya was used to the sight. This was the home where she had lived before leaving her home after the dispute with her mother, long ago. She still remembered as a young elf the ways she would run and play with the few others near her age in the forest. Everything could be turned into a game when one's imagination was endless. Pushing the past behind her, she ascended the root steps and knocked gently on the door.

Her mother answered within seconds and they traded greetings formally, Arya speaking first, despite the emotions that simmered beneath her façade.

"Arya, it's good to see you. Blagden alerted me to your arrival," she explained her quick answer, indicating the white raven on a stand upon the table behind her. Though the two elves would normally appear as if only a few years separated them, their likeness remarkable, Islanzadi now looked almost old. Though not considered old in elven years, she was aged in experience and wisdom.

"Hello mother. You wished to see me?" Arya said, revealing no aspect of her irritation at what was to follow. She knew precisely what her mother wished to talk about and she knew it was not going to go well.

"Aye. I have a very important matter to discuss with you," Islanzadi said, motioning for Arya to come inside. The elf did so gracefully, stepping into her past. Nearly nothing in the house had been changed in the many years she had been absent. The wooden furniture sung from the trees that made up the home, the bowls of fruit that sat waiting on the table, the fairths that lined the walls, depicting a much younger Arya, her father, Evander, Islanzadi and one of the family together when Arya was only two. The reason why her mother had kept these on the walls for so many years escaped Arya, for her mother was the one who had exiled her from Ellesméra in the first place. She stiffly lowered herself into one of the chairs that surrounded the table that was grown in the center of the room, the only indication of her current state of mind. Her mother did the same as she began to speak, choosing her words carefully.

"I am ill, Arya, as I'm sure you know," Islanzadi began. Arya felt a slight pang of guilt that she kept hidden; in case of any doubt, her mother was using her only advantage she had to sway Arya's decision. Islanzadi had recently contracted a rare disease known as Anglát Wyrdan, fateful death, an illness only known to have occurred in a few elves prior and that which was incurable through any herbal or magical means. It was rumored to be more aggressive than even Oromis's condition and therefore had rapidly taken control of Islanzadi's body, leaving little hope for the elves' Queen. "And I have come to the realization that I must begin thinking about giving up my position. While I do not find hardship myself in relinquishing the throne, I do find it difficult due to the fact that we have few elves who can take my position in the present state of our country. We are on the brink of a very important war, and so this disease is most inopportune for our race."

Arya waited patiently for her mother to continue and finally say what she had come here for. Islanzadi looked up into her daughter's hard eyes, trying to find a way past the instinctual elven barriers-or was there something more reflected back to her? "As you are among the most experienced of us in battle, Arya, it should not only be your honor as princess, but your duty to accept my position upon my passing." Her words were deliberate and left little room for debate, but she knew that her statement would not go undisputed. She saw much of herself in Arya, even past the physical aspects that resembled her younger self. She too, had a fire within that had yet to be extinguished. Thus, she had done what she could to calm these flames within her child before revealing what they both knew was what to come.

It took a moment for Arya to respond. That cold stare from her eyes never left those of the Queen, and Islanzadi felt something inside her break. She could tell in an instant what Arya's response would be in a fleeting moment. "I find it incredibly interesting that you would choose to appoint the very person that you exiled those many years ago to lead our people. Wouldn't this pose a slight problem with the forest to see that we have now begun to revere our criminals instead of stay true to our word? After all, that has always been the way. We cannot go back on our word. But, when the times call for such measures and a mother suddenly feels remorseful, we can simply take away these claims and call the offender forth to the throne. What will the others think about that, I wonder?"

Arya's reply shocked Islanzadi. She had prepared herself for rejection, but this went much further. Her only daughter was using the one mistake Islanzadi had ever committed in her name against this crucial decision she had secretly hoped would go well. As well, Arya was actually sarcastic, something that struck the Queen as alarming and evidence of the stress the decision must be putting upon her daughter. In a final effort to demonstrate her sincere respect and desire for Arya's acceptance, Islanzadi kept her composure and did something even the young elf wouldn't have expected.

"Arya, I am so terribly sorry for what I did," she began, seeing Arya falter ever so slightly. "I was wrong in my decision. It is not due to simply remorse that I have welcomed you back, but due to the realization that I had to remedy the worst mistake one could ever make in their lifetime: to banish their own child. No one deserves such treatment, Arya, and you are no criminal. None of the elves think of you so. When you took the position to protect and carry Saphira's egg, I was distraught. Granted, that was no excuse for what I did, but nevertheless, I acted out in hurt and anger. But perhaps this has been the best outcome. Should you have remained in Ellesméra, you would not have gained the knowledge necessary for the one who should take my place. You would have stayed here, secluded in these peaceful woods, and would have never had the experiences you have gone through whilst traveling across the whole of Alagaësia. Without these travels, I would be hard pressed to choose another suitor. But as it stands, you are the most qualified for the position where you choose to acknowledge it or not." Arya had listened to the words, but was as yet not convinced.

"I have long since waited to hear those words from you mother. My travels have taken me wide and far and given me a new respect for my land and this sanctuary we call home. They have also given me a chance to experience the thrill of battle. Though I feel no pleasure in taking the lives of others, I do admit that I find battle exciting and invigorating. It is something that allows me to forget my troubles and current woes and replaces these feelings with a blank slate. Should you have fought in these battles, you could come to the same conclusion.

"We elves live far too long. We have gone through times that vary so drastically that we no longer know where our land should stand. How long has peace lasted in the past? How long can wars go on for?" Islanzadi began to feel a new respect for her daughter and what she had been through. "Despite this, I am certain that one of the few ways to escape these thoughts that have long since embedded themselves within my mind is through battle. When I fight, I am free. As Queen, I would not be able to fight. A Queen can lead her men into battle, but how much can she fight? She would be surrounded by her guards, and many would give their lives for their leader. At most, all I could do is strategize. This is not the way I wish to live out my days. Please don't mistake my decision for selfishness. I believe that there are others who are much better suited to serve this position than myself. I know nothing of controlling a people. I have lived alone for many decades, with no one at my command and little else to do than what I was assigned. I most certainly am not the most qualified for this position."

"You bring up a relevant point, my daughter. But I must reason that there should not be a need to fight once this war is over. Though it gives you peace, after this last stand, we should no longer have a need to be ready to enter battle at a moment's notice. Alagaësia will again have freedom from strife."

"And just how do you know that this battle will be the final stand? Given time for preparation, we will be nearly equal to the Empire. For how long do you believe this war will take until its conclusion? It could be months or years. We have little way of knowing." Arya questioned.

"I have confidence that this will be the last. We have seen many wars, Arya, and rarely do they trade battle victories for very long before one side either surrenders or prevails. I doubt Galbatorix will endure another battle without partaking in the action. This will be the last," Islanzadi said confidently. She knew she would not survive to see the beginning of the end. She had nothing to lose. "Ultimately, this conflict will conclude. Once that day comes, should you have accepted my proposition, you could very well give your position to another, for our people will no longer need a leader with a history of dueling under her belt. I'm certain there will be more than a few elves willing to assume the throne.

"It must be up to you to decide whether or not you wish to lead the elves for the time that it takes. I am convinced that you will make the right choice in the end," Islanzadi said. Arya rose from her seat. In her eyes, Islanzadi glimpsed great divergence before her daughter brought two fingers to her lips and they exchanged formal words of farewell. The young elf turned and strode out of the house, leaving Islanzadi to wonder, similar to seventy years prior, if her daughter were going to return at all.

"Wyrda!" Blagden shrieked.

--

**Hpjedi1: The majority of her injuries are simply too old to be changed, as the magic Eragon uses should only work on fresh wounds, not ones that have been given time to heal.**

**You know the drill-7 reviews and I update. Ask me questions, tell me what you thought was good or bad (were the characters portrayed correctly?), or just click the little button because it's something to do for 30 seconds. Thanks to Fresh Blood, Ravyn, hpjedi1, doomerbob, Dumbledare, Xewioso, blackmorningglory, lulu, Pulle and HorsesROCK for the reviews! **

**IMPORTANT: I'm going to change my penname to Emerald Dragon Rider in the near future, just as a heads up.**

**Super-hero Fan**


	24. Duel

**Chapter 23-Duel**

The horses' hooves sunk deep into the hot sand as the blazing sun beat mercilessly upon the group. Though this slowed their speed considerably, it gave Lenora time to recover from the accident. Through the continuous riding, the ache in her muscles and leg had subsided considerably and the effects of the event were no longer as persistent. Due to the consequences of what had happened, she hadn't noticed the loss of several of her minor injuries which Eragon had healed, much to his relief. She had, however, begun to notice the increasingly pointed tips of her ears. While all of them had been attempting to solve the question as to what had happened during the Ra'zac fight, nothing that they had guessed seemed to answer the mystery. Despite her success the night of the premonition, Lenora wasn't eager to use magic again, though Eragon continued to teach her the ancient language. In his mind, she should know how to fluently speak the elven tongue, though without the power, she felt as if whatever she learned offered only half the potential it could should she have the control of magic. Through their teachings, Roran and Katrina had taken to listening and knew nearly as many of the obscure words as Lenora herself but were unable to use them for magic as well.

At night they continued to spar. They stopped for the night after the heat had subsided, as this helped cool their mounts and kept the riders from growing too warm as they fought. While Lenora continued to teach them to fight without weapons, she and Eragon still worked on swordsmanship each night to end their sessions. During these times, Katrina, still fervent to learn, was under Roran's instruction at these times as he showed her how to wield his war-hammer. Through the travel, her body had healed since her time in Helgrind and she was beginning to show promising signs of being a fighter herself, albeit less practiced than her betrothed. So traveled the pack of belligerents, ready for whatever lay ahead. They had unintentionally prepared themselves for the imminent duel that reluctantly awaited their arrival.

A mound materialized through the hazy waves of heat that rose from the sea of sand. Similar mirages had mocked them for the past few days as the temperature had risen over time, and they were not to be mercilessly fooled once again. No one took notice to the object as they trudged on, conversation limited to conserve energy. Under the stress of their travel, Eragon had ceased to extend his mind over the leagues. In the middle of the desert, with the Ra'zac gone, they were unlikely to be assaulted. Yet as they drew nearer, the distant mass began to take shape and it was Saphira who noticed first. Both apprehension and suspicion colored her words when she spoke to her rider.

_Eragon, it's Thorn! I do not yet see Murtagh but I assume he is beneath Thorn's wing. _Eragon strained his eyes to notice the crimson color beginning to show upon the dragon's hide. Since their brief conversation before entering Dras-Leona, he had let himself exonerate Murtagh for his imprisonment and unwilling loyalty to the King. Yet there were still certain actions he had yet to forgive, one of which remained Hrothgar's untimely death.

_He doesn't seem to notice we're near, _he replied, the memories of the last battle now fresh in his mind. _I can guarantee he hasn't been sent to make amends. Would Galbatorix send him out immediately to complete the task he failed to accomplish?_

_I know not, Eragon, but this cannot be good. We certainly won't get out of here unscathed. It will only be a matter of moments before--_

Too late. As they watched, Thorn rose from the ground and they could glimpse a small figure beside him who stood quickly as he too observed the group. As the Blue Rider and his dragon came to a silent accord, they raised their mental barriers, blocking one from the other's mind to avoid the chance that Murtagh might attempt to breach their thoughts and take them by mental force. Saphira descended to the hot sand below; if there was going to be a conflict, Skulblaka and Shur'tugal would fight as one.

--

Upon seeing the ruby dragon, Eridor had contacted his rider as well, shielding his thoughts from Saphira and the others.

_That's Thorn from your memories, isn't it? _Instinctively, the young dragon had begun to glide, attempting to avoid detection for as long as possible.

_Aye, but I don't know what he's doing here, _she said, concerned. _I'm sure Galbatorix sent him out to attempt to capture Eragon and Saphira again, but if he was unsuccessful the first time, why send him out again without so much as a few weeks' intermittence? _The King couldn't have discovered yet that she had escaped. Surely, even Teron couldn't be that incompetent, as it would surely mean his life should he decide to tell Galbatorix he had been serving food to the dungeon rats for the last two weeks instead of the King's daughter. Yet Murtagh's presence bothered her. She remembered what he had said before she left: "Let us hope we never meet again, for both of our sakes."

_I don't hold the answers you seek, but I do know that I don't intend to allow even your best friend tear Saphira to pieces. _In any other situation, Lenora might have teased him for his comment; it seemed Eridor was taken to the azure dragon. As it stood, a foreboding welled inside her. They had two dragons, but Murtagh had magic. Blood would be spilled, and she couldn't decide who it was she wished to triumph. As Eridor landed next to her, she had dismounted her stallion, handing the reins to Roran whose grim face was no better than her own. Turning to her emerald beast, she climbed into his saddle and strapped in as he leaped into the sky alongside the Varden's rider.

_--_

Stronghammer took the reins of the black charger and watched as the dragons rose into the sky. This was a rider's fight and there was naught he or Katrina could do. Even upon the ground, the Empire's rider was already outnumbered and three-to-one could not be considered a fair fight in his mind still plagued by the numbers of lives he had taken. But he knew this rider was strong. Though he had not witnessed the battle at the Burning Plains, from what he had seen of the riders' practice sessions, any opponent of Eragon's must be a formidable enemy. Thus he made a resolution that should it come down to necessity to save his cousin by forgetting his morals, he would readily do so. One glance to his side showed Katrina, eyes bright and focused. She would not stand by and allow her companions to become prisoners to the Empire as she had been. They lead the horses, but stayed near the action.

_--_

Thorn had heard the approaching thrumming wingbeats before his rider. Though not much of a surprise, what had alerted the dragon was that there were two patterns of nearly equal size and rate.

_Murtagh, they have finally arrived, _he said, lifting the makeshift shade to reveal Murtagh dozing underneath, head resting upon his arms. His rider opened his eyes and a look of sorrow crossed his features before he too noticed the addition reverberations. As they rose, the rider searched the skies.

_Does that sound like…_

_Two dragons? Aye. It seems that the hatchling is not so much a hatchling than an adolescent, _Thorn concluded.

_I thought that only dark magic could achieve such feats? _Murtagh said, referring to Thorn's own increased growth rate that the King had performed upon the ruby dragon's hatching. Instead of disbelief, on his face shown a look of admiration and relief. Though they would now be more disadvantaged, this was the plan from the beginning.

_It appears the King is not the only one with tricks up his sleeve._

"So it begins," Murtagh remarked, beginning to feel the effects of the King's command. He subconsciously tried to suppress the actions that were forced upon him. As he saddled Thorn, he noticed his dragon was in no better predicament. Their orders had been clear: kill Lenora. He had no choice this time but to fight. Mentally berating himself for being so weak, he mounted the dragon and drew Zar'roc, focusing his attention on the emerald dragon and his rider that approached. He would worry about the blue rider once it was no longer an option to ignore them. The Red Rider were now under the complete control of the King.

But through all of these conversations there was one common thing upon all of their minds. _If we must fight, who will prevail?_

--

As the dragons neared one another, Eragon had yelled to Murtagh, demanding he answer as to his intentions. Though it was to be painfully obvious once he initiated the attack upon Lenora, he could not so willingly give away what he had tried so hard to conceal. Instead, what he said next surprised all of them.

"I'm sorry, Eragon." In those words lived a genuine remorse, yet as he spoke, his eyes never left those of Lenora. It took her an instant to realize that once he had finished the apology, he had advanced.

When Lenora noticed Thorn was directed straight toward them, she understood why the two had been sent from the castle so soon. Her father uncovered the truth and had told Murtagh to recapture his escaped fighter. The King was smart; not only did he know that the egg had hatched for Lenora, but he knew that, despite her disability, she was still a threat. No doubt, he had ordered Murtagh to reclaim her so he could torture her to the brink of death before once again, resuming her training to use her against the Varden now that she was a rider. Then, a mental probe rammed itself against her barriers. Though she was familiar with Murtagh's attacks, during their sessions at the castle, he had never tested her with this level of strength or ferocity. She knew that this fight was not going to be the same. Silently apologizing, she had no choice but to defend with her own piercing emerald probe, attacking his mental projection to make him surrender. The strength of her mind had increased substantially since she too had become Shur'tugal, and he retreated for the moment. During this span of several seconds, the two dragons had grown so near that Lenora could now see the look of sincere remorse on Murtagh's face in the flash before the dragons collided with a massive crash.

As the dragons grappled one another, drawing blood and twisting wildly in the air, Lenora raised her blade to defend against Murtagh's attack as she had so many times before. This time she felt him add more strength and pressure to his attacks as their swords danced around one another. As in their many sessions together, they fought with a dangerous grace, each knowing the move that the next would make except this time, their blades were not blocked. This was real.

Then she knew. Her best friend was not trying to recapture her. He was trying to kill her.

She couldn't approximate the feeling to anything else she had experienced before. She had been through pain, both mental and physical, this was something entirely different and it shook her. Though she knew it was not truly Murtagh that was behind the actions, it was still a shock to come to the realization that the sole person that she had ever known to accept her for who she was, befriend her regardless of her father, was trying to take her life. She knew in any other circumstance, he would not hesitate to sacrifice his own on her behalf. As their attacks flew, Lenora couldn't resist any longer.

"Murtagh, what are you doing? Aren't Eragon and Saphira the targets?" Her attacker hesitated before answering, blocking her blade as it swung toward his chest.

"You must know: Galbatorix sent me to kill you. You are too great a threat," he said, beginning a series of defensive movements to evade her own.

"Aye, I believe I have already grasped that fact. So now I take precedence?"

"He made us leave as soon as he knew you had escaped and had the egg. I had hoped we would not meet were Thorn and I to wait in the desert, but in the event that we should, I decided to cut off my supply," he replied, sweat beading on his forehead as he spoke and fought simultaneously. Murtagh knew Lenora would remember what he meant.

"Are you mad? Murtagh, Eragon can use magic!"

"You don't think I know that? I've done this for you Lenora. I couldn't bear to be the one to take your life. Now you must make the decision to take mine or not," he said gravely. Before she could reply, he continued. "Why have you come through the desert? Of all the places in Alagaësia, why did you have to end up right in the middle of my attack?"

During this conversation, Lenora had not yet noticed that her dragon was beginning to show signs of fatigue and that he was bleeding from a large gash down his side. They had blocked one another from their minds as the others had and this had also blocked the pain. While she didn't find the answer to Murtagh's question to be of great importance at the moment, Lenora told him as she swiveled her sword and shoved his blade away from her neck. "I had a premonition a few nights ago. A friend of Eragon's who lives within Farthen Dûr is to be crowned, but I witnessed the beginning of an assassination. We are on our way to rescue him." Murtagh took only a moment to process this information before he realized.

"Lenora, that can't be real-a rider rarely has a vision that leaves so little to doubt. Galbatorix took those memories from me when I was captured again. He must have created the scene and planted it to ensure--" his words were cut off as a bright-blue ball of fire had struck his dragon and knocked him to the side.

Both Eragon and Saphira had made to intervene immediately, yet to add to the surprise of not being the intended target, both dragon and rider had made a curious discovery in their witness of a few moments of the fight before them. Though they had fought on both the ground and on dragonback, the way Lenora defended herself against Murtagh was not the same. Each fighter seemed to know exactly what movement the other would do before one would initiate. It looked prearranged, a staged fight of surreal beauty. It didn't take long before Eragon realized that these two knew one another and had fought often. But Murtagh had yet to use any magic to aid his assault as he had so easily upon the plateau. Neither blade had made true contact upon the other, yet the dragons were unmatched. Eragon assumed Thorn had been trained by Shruikan due to the dragon's actions when he and Saphira had fought before, and in this case, the ruby dragon's knowledge overcame Eridor. There would soon be a winner should Eragon choose not to interfere. As Thorn lashed out toward Eridor's neck, Eragon refused to wait longer.

"Brisingr!" Thorn roared in shock, and Lenora's mind came free from her void, immediately feeling the effects of the attacks upon her dragon but she could do nothing to help him until the fight had ceased. Saphira shot past them, Eragon brandishing his sword.

_No! _Lenora's thoughts pleaded, but she could not voice her worry. It would destroy everything Murtagh had done to protect his brother. She could not admit her connections to the Red Rider for once Eragon knew, it was possible for him to discover what Murtagh truly felt as he was made to fight his brother. As they began a new assault upon the ruby dragon and rider, Lenora could see that though her friend was tired from the duel with her, Galbatorix's orders had him trained upon her and nothing more. The blue dragon was nothing more than a hindrance, and Thorn tried desperately to maneuver around Saphira so he could again attack Eridor. But the sides were now uneven; Eragon's blade had made contact upon Murtagh at several damaging points while his brother's intent lay elsewhere.

As Thorn made another attempt to get past Saphira, she lashed out at his head with her tail, leaving deep scores across his scaled face and distracting him as Eragon swung his sword toward Murtagh. Zar'roc caught the dwarven blade before it caught Murtagh's left shoulder, and the rider retaliated with a blow to Eragon's chest with his elbow. Even after feeling a similar action from Lenora many times previously, the strike caught Eragon by surprise and he bent over from the shock. In a second, Thorn had shot past the two as Saphira made one last snap toward the dragon's retreating tail. As they again approached the Emerald Rider, Lenora's gaze went past them to see Eragon holding his gedwëy ignasia in front of him and whispering a few words. Before her friend could reach them, a gust of wind ripped Thorn from his path, casting him ungainly from the air where he landed in the sand, Murtagh thrown from the saddle.

"What happened Murtagh? Forget how to use magic?" Eragon said as Saphira descended to the ground to land next to them. "Get up and fight like a rider!" His brother rose slowly from the sand, blood running down his face from a cut on his head. He held his hand grasping Zar'roc to a stab wound to his left shoulder and was beginning to limp, another slice down his thigh. His eyes cast upward, looking for Lenora. Seeing that she was still upon Eridor above them, he turned and approached Thorn who had begun to painfully rise.

_What has gotten into him? He seems hell-bent on attacking only Lenora, _Eragon thought. He had little choice, he couldn't allow Murtagh to mount another attack upon her again, despite his suspicious discovery.

"Letta!" Murtagh stopped in his tracks, confined by the magic. Eragon approached him, looking into his eyes. Those were not the eyes of a madman, Eragon realized. Emotion filled his brother's eyes, but under that lay a blank stare. Eragon held his sword steady in front of him, sure that Murtagh would soon free himself from the bind with a silent spell.

Lenora couldn't watch Eragon kill his brother and her best friend. As she saw Eragon's grip on his sword tighten as if about to attack, Eridor could feel her tension and roared loudly as he shot from the sky toward the two figures. This broke Eragon's concentration on the spell and Murtagh was released. His blade collided with Eragon's and the fight ensued. Eragon was faster and stronger now; they had traded positions from the Battle at the Burning Plains and Murtagh could only defend. Eridor landed in the sand roughly and Lenora leaped off him, crashing into the sand as her leg collapsed. Thorn made a movement toward her, but Saphira had him pinned within an instant. Though the red dragon thrashed and clawed to be free, Lenora rose and limped as quickly as she could to the fighters, seeing the horses with Roran and Katrina not far off, ready to intercept. As Murtagh's gaze drifted toward her once again, Eragon's sword caught him shallowly across the chest, matching the scar on the rider's back. Not a deadly attack, but painful nonetheless. Murtagh's scream rent the dry air and he fell to his knees, now at Eragon's mercy. His dark brown hair hung limply in front of his eyes, Zar'roc forgotten on the sand.

Lenora didn't know whether or not Eragon was willing to take the life of his brother, as an act of mercy or not, but she would not stand by and watch. Her hobble turned into a broken run and she rammed herself into Eragon's side before he could make another move. Finally succumbing to the pain and total fatigue of an unmatched fight, Murtagh collapsed onto the scorching sand, unconscious. As he did so, Thorn too fell into the void and Saphira retreated. Forgetting Eragon, Lenora pushed herself from the ground and approached Murtagh's side cautiously. She didn't know what she would do if he was dead. Fingers trembling, she knelt and placed them on his blood stained neck, relief flooding through her when she felt the pulse. He was injured but should live. Then Eragon's rough hand reached down and pulled her up by her shoulder until she faced his confused and angered face, his dagger against her stomach.

"Who are you?" Eragon demanded.

--

**Murtagh-lovers please don't hate me for this chapter! Seven reviews and I update-I only took a few extra days on this chap to make sure it was written exactly how I wanted it. Hope it pays off!**

**Alice: Even I haven't decided on Arya's position yet. We'll see!**

**Sandstorm: She did not feel pain lifting the stone, but I'm just going to let you figure that one out by reading more. ;)**

**Thanks to Fresh Blood, Dumbledare, Alice4Ever, Sandstorm, YASHA3393 and Sunshine0235 for the feedback.**

**P.S. Haven't changed my penname yet because I want to make sure you all know. Giving one last notice so I don't lose any readers! (to be Emerald Dragon Rider) For those more savvy than myself: in changing your penname, does the link to the story change as well? If it is too problematic, I will not change it. Opinions wanted on this please!**

**-Super-hero Fan**


	25. Lineage

_**Chapter 24-Lineage**_

_**Same story, different penname! **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon, Eldest or any of Paolini's characters-I only own Lenora and Eridor. Enjoy!**_

_--_

Eridor roared and made an advance toward Eragon for this threat to his rider, but Saphira positioned herself between the young dragon and the Shur'tugals. Though adrenaline still pumped through his veins from the fight, he knew Saphira could defeat him if pitted against her. Though she had forgotten her sword on the ground when she had checked Murtagh, Lenora would have already made to disarm Eragon with a simple movement were his cousin not right behind her with his blood-stained hammer. Roran had dismounted and approached when Lenora had bowled over Eragon, and he now believed Lenora didn't know he was behind her until he decided to announce himself.

"I suggest you don't try anything foolish," he threatened. Though her sword was not within immediate reach, they all had seen her dubious tricks. Lenora didn't give Roran the satisfaction of flinching or even answering the warning. Instead, she stared Eragon in the eyes and challenged his suspicious glare. The point of the dagger which she felt through the tunic fabric didn't frighten her. She had been stabbed before, and a wound to the stomach was not lethal unless she bled out, but a blow to the head from that bloody hammer was something she didn't wish to experience. Should she willingly ram the dagger through herself, Lenora doubted even she would be able to ignore such an onset of pain to deflect the blow of the hammer, especially after the previous fight and emotional stress. To break the rider's grip on the weapon would be precarious as his strength still bested her own and she could easily end up with a crushed skull before she had wrestled the blade from Eragon. _Crazy half-breed,_ Lenora again thought. She was trapped.

Yet she had just watched Eragon come within an inch of murdering her only friend. Though he had been defending her, he could have easily muttered a single word in that magical tongue to put his brother to sleep. Anger was all she felt in that moment. Anger toward Eragon for doing something so shallow when all Murtagh ever wanted was his brother's well-being. To protect him from the evil that he had experienced and never wanted Eragon to see. To love him as a little brother and make him understand what had changed him so dramatically that he no longer represented that young man Eragon had grown so connected to before the Battle at Farthen Dûr.

"I very much doubt you want the answer to that question. After nearly slicing Murtagh in half, who knows what you'll do to me," she said. "The fate of the Empire lies on your shoulders. Should you decide to take my life, the Varden doesn't stand a chance against Galbatorix."

"That was accidental. When Murtagh noticed you approaching, he lost concentration and didn't raise his blade to meet my own. The attack went through, something that surprised myself as much as him," Eragon said stonily.

"Then heal him!" she replied angrily.

"I don't see why his well-being is any concern of yours. Truth be told, I'm not sure I know anything about you. Why don't you start talking before yours too is in peril," Eragon said, pressing the blade until it pricked her skin. A few short weeks prior to that moment would have Lenora welcoming the threat, but now she had a purpose in life. She was a rider, and she was connected to the handsome emerald dragon who was now so desperately trying to figure out a way to rescue her. She wouldn't give up her life so easily now and refused to subject Eridor to that pain. Now, those last few secrets were what held their lives in balance.

"You really want to know who I am? Just remember _rider,_ you were the one who asked." Then, speaking steadily in the ancient language, she said the incriminating words. "I am Lenora, daughter of Galbatorix and princess of Alagaësia."

Eragon's face revealed the rise in his temper. He had been teaching the daughter of a tyrant the ways of the Varden and Oromis. Though he didn't increase the pressure on the dagger, neither did he remove the weapon. It appeared Roran was in a similar state as she was not yet decapitated. As much as Lenora wished to retrieve her blade, any action of the sort would certainly put her more at odds with her companions. "You told me you were the daughter of the Cavalry Captain."

"I lied," she said, "because I knew you'd react like this."

"How much of it was lies?" he demanded. "Evidently, you know Murtagh too. I've never seen a fight such as that; you have fought with him many times before."

"Aye, your _brother_ is not only a good friend of mine, but he was the one who helped teach me what I know today in hopes that I would someday escape. Now you've nearly killed him," she stated darkly. "From what I told you before, that is all that was false."

"Then tell me," he said, voice lowering. "Why has he tried to kill you?"

"Because I am a weapon. Galbatorix is who taught me to fight so mercilessly, yet also the one who rejected me as useless once I was crippled. As a rider, I could now sway the sides of the war with whatever side I decide to choose," she explained. "The King has sent Murtagh out to kill me for he knows I would never choose to serve the Empire. I wish nothing more than to pierce Galbatorix's heart with my sword."

"How are we to know you speak the truth now?"

"I could recount my words to you in the ancient language, if that's what it will take to prove it to you."

"I don't believe that even that could help you now, Lenora. For all we know, your father has taught you how to lie in the ancient language. Your words cannot be proven true, for an impostor such as yourself should never be trusted." Their argument had not helped her state-of-mind and she could feel her composure beginning to crack. Her hands had curled into fists and she began contemplating the consequences of simply punching Eragon in the face.

"Then the egg," she said, voice shaking in fury. "Would a dragon hatch for someone they believed to be evil?"

"I'm sure your dragon is as corrupt as yourself," Eragon replied, causing the young dragon to growl in protest. "In all probability, Galbatorix cursed the egg so that it would hatch for you. I refuse to take your life in cold blood, but you no longer can travel with us."

"We will not leave until you at least heal Murtagh's wound. If you are so high and mighty, you cannot leave him here to die," she said, pushing back her anger for the moment in order to rationally convince Eragon to oblige. Taking another suspicious look into her eyes, searching for another motive, the Blue Rider backed up and knelt next to his brother, murmuring the healing words, closing the outside of the slash but leaving the rest to heal painfully on its own.

"If I heal him completely, he will be sure to soon awaken and attack again," he said once finished. In his eyes shone great anger but his voice was forcefully calm. "Now leave."

Satisfied, Lenora again succumbed to her resentment. She found she couldn't keep her voice from rising in her rage. "After all I've taught you, this is how you deem us? We are not the Forsworn! I thought I knew you better, Eragon. One day you'll realize the mistake you have made today." There was nothing more she could do to show him she spoke the truth. Simmering in anger, she turned and limped over to where her sword lay on the sand, unconcerned if they should strike for she was ready and willing to hit whatever approached. Their weapons stood still as they watched. Saphira allowed Eridor past, ready to attack should he make another move toward her rider. As Lenora jammed the blade into its sheath, accidentally slicing open one shaky hand as she did so, the dragon allowed her to rummage through the saddlebags for a moment until she produced a rabbit she had kept for food while in the desert. Seeing that the rider's waterskin appeared recently filled, she dropped the kill onto the sand next to Murtagh, before climbing onto the dragon's saddle who crouched and leaped into the air.

"Let's get moving. We still have a long way to go," Eragon announced, appearing as if the event had no effect upon him. Only Saphira knew what her rider truly felt but when she reached out to comfort him, her mind was instantly blocked.

--

Lenora's anger had never been so consuming since she had left the castle. Though Eridor carried her across the sands, she too had blocked him from her mind as her thoughts raged around in her head. Her rage confined her and she couldn't think clearly. She focused upon the prejudice that Eragon had demonstrated. No matter what she had said, he wouldn't accept it as the truth. But what angered her the most was that she was hurt and she hated feeling so emotionally vulnerable.

After an hour of silent flying, Eridor gently prodded her mind. Her anger simmering down, Lenora allowed the dragon in.

_Your mind feels wounded, _he commented. _I know what happened has hurt you. _Lenora stayed quiet. The dragon took this to continue. _Was it Murtagh or Eragon who has done this to you?_

She sighed, knowing she was going to have to open up eventually. _It was both. I know you don't know what it feels like, but to have your only friend sent to kill you is something you don't want to experience…and to have another almost take the life of that one friend only furthered the problem._

_But that is not all that troubles you…_

Dragons and their intuition! _What troubles me is that Eragon's right. _She could feel the surprise from her dragon as he asked her if she was being sarcastic. _If I had told him earlier, this may not have happened. Or, if it had, we wouldn't have been with Eragon and it would only have been you and me to meet Murtagh in the desert. _

Eridor mulled over her words. _I believe Eragon would have reacted the same way whether you had told him in the beginning or not. Then you would have been put into the position of dealing that blow or not, _he said. _Thorn was not far from overpowering me. I have not yet had the fighting experience necessary to duel with him and win. Should you have told him earlier, you may have had to kill your best friend to save me. Would that be what you would have wanted?_

_Nay, _Lenora said quietly, forcing herself to listen to reason. _But now he and Thorn lie broken and bleeding in the desert, unconscious. What if they don't survive? I promised Murtagh that I would do everything in my power to free him someday._

Eridor's head snaked around to look her in the eyes. _Had this not happened, I believe they wouldn't have survived at all. Galbatorix sent them to kill us, but they were unsuccessful. They would have continued to attack if Eragon hadn't stopped them. If he had chosen to use magic as a temporary solution, when Galbatorix discovers he has failed, he would be in perfect condition to not only be tortured by the King, but to again be sent out in search of us. _The dragon faced the wind as he saw the slight recognition in his rider's face. _Now, with the injuries from the fight, he will live but both he and Thorn will be forced to take time to recover. In that time, the King will be unable to cause further pain to his rider and we shall be long gone. There were few other ways to take care of the situation. From what I felt during the fight, Thorn is strong and his rider is a fighter as well. They should survive._

_We have done Galbatorix's work for him, _she realized. Her father would not be able to imbue more torment in Murtagh for the damage was already done. But he couldn't order them to continue their mission until they gained consciousness. _My anger has lead me to make some wrong decisions. Had I not been so mad, I could have much more easily explained myself to them. As I doubt Eragon will be readily forgiving, we should follow them and in time, reveal ourselves. Certainly by then, perhaps Saphira will at least have talked some sense into her rider. A daughter doesn't choose her father._

_Just because I'm a dragon doesn't mean I know where Farthen __Dûr is, _her dragon smugly replied. _And if we pursue them too closely in order to follow their path, they will quickly discover us. _

_Then we can stay a day behind them and if we lose their scent or tracks, I could scry them and try to determine where they are from their conversation._

_How could you even contemplate using magic again after what happened last time? _Eridor scolded. _While _you _might be bull-headed enough to try, personally, I don't wish to experience that again and believe it would be wise to use another method._

_But don't you remember that I was able to lift the rock without consequence? _Lenora replied, ignoring the dragon's insult. _Perhaps it matters in the level of magic I perform. The spell I used during the fight was far more advanced and though the effects were uncharacteristic, I believe it all depends on the amount of magic. I could start with the rock again and work up to scrying. It shouldn't take much more energy and it would only be a last resort._

_I don't know Lenora, it could be dangerous. If you hadn't fallen unconscious, you could have easily dropped from my back and I would have been powerless to save you._

_Then I'll do it on the ground. I am not exactly eager to go through that again but there must be an explanation. All we need to do is experiment a little. Do you have what it takes the be the dragon of a 'ruthless fugitive of the Empire?'"_

Eridor took a moment to respond. _Aye, but I will only agree to this plan if you promise to be careful and not to push your limits._

_You have my word, friend of my heart, _she replied. Knowing the group still was burdened by the necessity of riding the horses, the two agreed to stop on the edge of the desert for the evening and allow them a head start.

--

Though the environment was more hospitable that night, Lenora found sleep would not welcome her. She battled with her mind, trying to suppress the memories that taunted her. The memories of the only sweet moments she could remember in life, as reality raged its ugly war around her. The moments with her mother had been so long before that she no longer could remember much more than that last scene that played in front of Lenora's eyes as Anne fell lifeless to the floor before her father. Thus, the moments she remembered concerned Murtagh, brought on vividly by the sight of him lying so helpless and defeated in the sand as she and Eridor had risen above the grim sight.

It was only through coincidence that she and Murtagh ever met. Had he not become a rider himself, Galbatorix would have had little use for him and Murtagh would not have played any part in Lenora's life. Yet he had had such a significant impact upon her time in Urû'baen. Before his escape, they had hardly known the other existed. If that had been the case, history would have been changed completely as he would have refused to leave her in the grasp of the King while he made his escape. The fact left her wondering if she had made the right choice in doing the same to him. Yet when he had been returned to the castle so forcefully, she had played witness to the poor man's plight as he was magically bound and escorted into the throne room where his screams had pierced her heart as she secretly listened from the hallway behind a statue. She had heard about the flight of Morzan's son, but as she had never met Murtagh, she gave the fact little thought other than unconscious jealousy that he had found a route of escape, whereas she had to continue living out her days obeying Galbatorix and his cruel methods. However, when he had been returned to his quarters that day, she had curiously followed the healers, wondering how someone other than herself could put the King in such a rage. It had taken several days for the young man to recover and due to the guards that constantly surrounded him wherever he went thereafter, she was unable to formally meet Murtagh.

It was when Thorn had hatched that they had really connected. Though she had known of the remaining eggs, that was the extent of her knowledge. Galbatorix did not wish for her to become a rider and thus kept secret anything that concerned these precious artifacts. So when she had seen the tiny red dragon flitting about the training fields when her father had been training Murtagh, she had been immediately interested. She had quickly discovered that the poor hatchling had already been under the influence of dark magic, which allowed him to grow rapidly and talk at an early age. Not to mention how both of them were under the will of the King as their true names were discovered. As she was free enough to encroach upon the fields whenever she felt like, at only a few days of age, the ruby dragon had introduced himself as Thorn and asked her who she was. Once Murtagh had come upon them talking together, they had instantly connected due to their similar situations. Though they had known each other for only about a year, they had become fast friends, despite the other's damning lineage and all three would talk for hours as they had never had anyone to talk to before.

Since that day, they had always been there for the other. Finding a friend in such a dark time in her life kept Lenora from performing that final act with her dagger that would free her from that cruel world forever. Murtagh had saved her life. When a training session with Galbatorix had gone particularly wrong, they had comforted the other with the never-fading hopes that they would one day escape forever. She had made a concerted effort to escape that fateful night without the help of Murtagh as it would have been an action the King would never forgive. But they had had so many times where they would forget where they were and who they were forced to be and would just enjoy their days together, the only happy moments she could truly remember.

_Peace, Lenora, _Eridor broke her concentration. _Whi__le you may not be able to relive such sweet moments of life, be grateful that he will live on and one day, we may be able to break the bond that Galbatorix holds to him. Now let your mind rest._

As usual, her dragon spoke the truth. With little else to do, she strengthened her resolve and was able to fall into a not-so-peaceful sleep as Eridor watched the dark horizon.

--

**Who else thinks the new Reader Traffic feature is awesome? Well, I do. It makes me feel famous worldwide. Now eight reviews and I update!**

**Concerning the last chapter: Though maybe not absolutely true to Paolini's ideas, my explanation is this: The reason why Murtagh couldn't use magic, as his primary source of power is within himself and Thorn, is because after being in the desert for so long, both Murtagh and Thorn's bodies have been exhausted due to the heat. While a dragon can thrive in the desert, his rider must stay completely healthy in order for the dragon to also be healthy. Such high temperatures for a long amount of time have taken their toll upon Murtagh and he is physically drained. While he may be able to perform magic, it would prove very dangerous or fatal to do so during the fight. Thanks Yasha and Pikachu for pointing this out!**

**Lulu: Thanks for the ideas. While I already have the rest of the story planned out, as always, I'll take your ideas into account and, if things seem to fit, I might use some of them. **

**Thanks to Fresh Blood, YASHA3393, lulu, SandStorm, Flaming Dawn, Pikachu, Dumbledare, Alice4Ever and hpjedi1 for the reviews!**

**-Emerald Dragon Rider**


	26. Exposed

**Chapter 25-Exposed**

**Same story, different penname (used to be Super-hero Fan).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or Eldest; I only own Lenora, Eridor and my other OCs.**

--

It would never occur to the normal person that such a small object could influence some of the most important decisions in the Empire. The bowl that sat next to the throne was so unassuming, so far from intimidating that anyone but the most clever would never know the power it possessed. Though for the moment, all that reflected off of the liquid's surface was the dark arched ceiling, this simple dish that contained common water was one of the King's most vital assets. Joined with the power of two little words, it would reveal secrets he would otherwise never know. Secrets that others never wanted him to know. Secrets that held a gravity few others could comprehend. Secrets that could change the outcome of the war and Alagaësia itself.

Since he had discovered his daughter's escape, Galbatorix had been scrying her and the group every day. Though he had methods to return Lenora to his dungeons, he would never have her cooperation. As the hatchling grew larger, they would be more trouble than they were worth. Without the knowledge of their true names, he would not be able to control them as easily as he did Murtagh and Thorn. Thus he had decided that, even though she was now a rider and could potentially be a much greater asset to the Empire should he be successful in her capture, he could not allow her to live. He could never trust her. Through the years he had honed her into the perfect weapon. She would never agree to serve him and this was the determining factor in the King's decision. Galbatorix was not one to give up. He would make sure that his daughter was no longer living by the time the last stand took place.

Having dismissed the guards within the Great Hall, the King took his place on the throne. His red-eyed dragon lay in his usual spot. Though Shruikan was usually in his company, Galbatorix rarely conversed with him. The mind of the dragon was twisted with black magic and his soul was deadened. This dragon was not Miremel's replacement. It was an intimidation toward his subjects and a weapon. A convenient method of travel and defense. This was not his dragon, for his dragon had been so much more. Galbatorix shoved the thoughts from his mind. He surprised himself with the break in mental defenses. He didn't allow himself to think about Miremel. It was a weakness to care for another. The tyrant focused upon the bowl of water.

The words recited silently, the liquid swirled and turned black. It then revealed in a dark setting, Lenora stretched out on a bedroll. The absence of her companions didn't alert Galbatorix as much as the detail he noticed, for she normally slept apart from the others. What was curious to the King was that she had not layered her clothing as she had been doing while the group was in the desert. She appeared to rest comfortably in the leather vest and breeches alone. Something in the back of his mind clicked and he let the image fade quickly. Before a moment had passed, another image had appeared on the surface.

The Red Rider and dragon rested upon the sand. Murtagh's body lay at an odd angle, appearing to have been sprawled on the ground. Only with a rider's eyes could Galbatorix see the dark stain of blood on the body and speckled on the sand about the scene. Upon closer examination, the cut through the front of Murtagh's tunic came into view, but the blood that should have been pouring from a wound caused by a blade that would slice so cleanly through the cloth was absent. This was not supposed to be the outcome of the fight he had organized. Though anger welled within him, Galbatorix steadied his emotions and easily dove into the rider's mind, the visual connection enough for someone so powerful to connect with what he saw. There was no reaction. Murtagh was unconscious and his mind would not awaken until his body had healed considerably.

The memories of the fight were the most current. From his rider's eyes, Galbatorix watched as both dragon and rider rose from the ground at the approach of the group. More than what he saw rather than heard made his blood boil. There, in the brilliant blue skies of the Hadarac, were two dragons of nearly equal size. The female that the King had been so fervent to capture and there next to her, was the green dragon. Not a hatchling, as one would expect, but an adolescent giant. Not one to be surprised, Galbatorix slammed his fist to the metal armrest of the throne he sat on, feeling with satisfaction the pain that lanced through his hand. This could not be! Every time he had scryed the group, they were riding horses, as they should be. Though he had been unable to see the dragon, Galbatorix was certain that the final dragon was still a hatchling. Obviously, through some manner of magical means, Lenora's dragon had been given the ability to grow at a faster rate. The King believed that only he had the power to conjure such magic. It could kill even Murtagh should he attempt to perform such a complex spell, but the Blue Rider? Perhaps Galbatorix had underestimated the boy. Still, he realized a paradox in this new gleam of information, for if Eragon was capable of such magical mastery, how did Murtagh best him in the battle on the plateau? Deciding to give it more thought when not so much more was at his fingertips, Galbatorix refocused on Murtagh's memories. He watched with a new interest as the fight progressed.

Murtagh and Thorn took to the sky for the fight, aiming for the emerald dragon and rider as instructed. Each movement and word said during the fight was revealed to Galbatorix in an incriminating demonstration. Murtagh's confession of what he believed to be a trick of the King to Lenora as they fought. The absence of magic that his rider should have used. Though the two were as closely matched as they had always been, trading blows as smoothly as ever, Thorn had experience as his advantage and nearly won the fight with an attack to the green dragon's exposed neck. It was then that Eragon and Saphira intervened. The ruby dragon was knocked to the side and within a short span of time, both dragon and rider were overcome with magic and plummeted to the sand below. From there, Murtagh rose and tried to reach his dragon but Eragon stopped him. Now at the mercy of the Varden's rider, Galbatorix could guess what had occurred next.

Lenora's dragon roared, distracting Eragon and giving Murtagh the chance to defend himself. It was clear who was stronger now and Galbatorix was angered further by this revelation. The Empire's rider seemed to barely hold his own against the attacks. As the third Shur'tugal landed, the outcome of the duel soon became unmistakable. Still intent on Lenora, the result of such direct orders, Murtagh's concentration lifted from the fight and Zar'roc didn't parry the blow that opened his chest. Before Galbatorix could block the torrent of pain, he too could feel what the rider experienced. The memory ended as Murtagh's vision faded, cloaking the dispute between the two riders from the King.

Yet the rider was alive, that much was proven by Galbatorix's entry into his mind that still lived. The memory his only method of drawing any conclusions, Galbatorix could only guess that the absent wound was the result of one of the other rider's guilty consciences. But Murtagh was far from healed. Other wounds marked his body from the fight and his body was still weak. His dragon was in similar straits and would not wake until his rider did so. There was little Galbatorix could do. But punishment needn't always be physical. Galbatorix was a strong believer in creativity. So Murtagh discovered his secret and told Lenora. Though the vision had accomplished it's initial purpose, he doubted that Lenora and the group would continue so quickly to Farthen Dûr if they believed the premonition hadn't been true. Now it was up to him to create the ultimate punishment.

--

Saphira knew her rider. Though the action perturbed her, she knew that after blocking her from his mind, eventually Eragon would allow her back in and ask her for her opinion. What was the meaning of Murtagh's apology before the fight? Did she agree with his decision of banishing Lenora from the group? Being so closely connected with Eragon meant Saphira knew his every mental quandary and thought. If he tried to hide anything from her, she would discover it within time, as she always had. They had difficulty shielding anything from the other, especially when they were the only other individual that the other truly trusted with their every feeling and doubt. It had been Saphira that had been the real strength Eragon possessed through the years, keeping him sane.

As expected, the sapphire dragoness soon felt a nudge against her mind. Pushing away the urge to give Eragon a taste of his own medicine, she opened her mind to the rider.

_I'm sorry, Saphira. I just needed some time to think things over…_she waited for her rider to continue. _It's just difficult. I don't know who to trust anymore. I knew there was something that wasn't quite right about her, but I wouldn't have guessed she was Galbatorix's daughter! Do you think I did the right thing by telling Lenora to leave? _

Saphira has considered what she would tell Eragon when he presented this question to her. _This situation does seem familiar, does it not? I believe that we both can infer something from Murtagh's confession yesterday. It was not his fault that he was sired by Morzan and then captured and forced to play servant to the King. I know you could feel his remorse as deeply as I could. He wishes not to fight you, to let you live your life the way that he can only dream of. The same applies to Lenora. Her words were as sincere as any I have heard. Though we do not know the extent with which Galbatorix has trained her, we must take into account her claims._

_About Eridor hatching for her? You know better than I that dragons have hatched for riders who've gone corrupt, _he stated. _Why should Lenora and Eridor be any different? She's already on the right path._

_Aye, but those dragons grew corrupt alongside their riders. A dragon would never choose a rider who already had proven themselves to be dark. _No reply came from the bested Shur'tugal. _Eragon, what would you have done in her position?_

The rider sighed, trying to fend off his own views on the subject and look at it logically. After all, this was what Oromis had been teaching him to do. _I know not. From what I _do _know of Lenora, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath should she discover my heritage._

_You see? As much as you deny the fact, little one, you already are in her position. She doesn't know that you are the son of Morzan. How do you think she would have reacted if she had discovered _your _little secret? _

_I would immediately be pinned under the justified retort of hypocrisy, _the half-elf replied. _And should I have told her before yesterday, we may have approached her situation much differently._

_We? _Saphira asked. _I took no part in your decision, but I wasn't going to argue with you when your mind was so centered in one direction. _

_What happened to being rider and dragon as one?_

_That's dragon and rider, and we are one, even if we do not always come to the same conclusions. How long could we stand one another if we never had any disagreements and debates once in awhile? I believe such a life would be dull._

Eragon smiled. _As always, you are correct. What right do I have to be connected to such a creature of wisdom and beauty?_

_Ah, you may have your faults Eragon, but you are still my rider. I would never trade you for someone who could speak suavely to females and who could make a reasoned decision when stuck in a dilemma of reality, _the sapphire dragoness said smoothly.

_And I call you my best friend, _Eragon replied. He could hear Saphira's growling laughter in his head as he rode his horse beside Roran and Katrina. A few moments passed as his mind worked and he gave more thought to Murtagh's situation. What Saphira had mentioned had focused his mind on his brother. He remembered the times when Murtagh had been there for him, as if he would have willingly given his life to protect who he only thought was a friend at the time. How they could work alongside one another so smoothly and fight as if trained together. Though the Red Rider dismissed Eragon's offer to take his life, he looked further into the reason. It was far too late to die with honor, after serving Galbatorix, whether willingly or not. It was always said that those who fought for the Varden should choose death over servitude to the Empire. But it was not always so simple. Once Murtagh had been presented with a ruby egg that soon hatched into a vibrant hatchling, could anyone honestly say they would willingly choose death when such a precious creature was intimately linked to their mind?

Eragon willed himself to view the situation as if it had been him in his brother's place. He had always believed that no matter the situation, he would never serve the King. Should he and Saphira be captured, they would resist all attempts Galbatorix made to force them into his service. If they were unable to escape, then they would be punished until finally sentenced to death for they would never acquiesce with the Empire. They would die the honorable Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales, forever remembered for their steadfast loyalty to the Varden. But now Eragon took into mind how situations such as these could be skewed. To those who had never experienced a similar circumstance, their answer would be the same. Die with honor and be respected by generations forward. But to those who had been victims of such evil, the results could be different. Even the hardest soldiers sometimes turned and ran.

Could Eragon allow himself to sentence his own dragon to death? The majestic, unique creature that had made his life worth living through the thousands of times he almost gave up? Could he force himself to watch her die and know that even in his afterlife, he would be tortured by the thought? Murtagh couldn't put Thorn to death any more than Eragon could Saphira. Sometimes honor was not as important as love.

As Eragon resolved to put an end to Murtagh's imprisonment when he had the ability, he too put to thought Lenora's situation. Aye, she was the daughter of Galbatorix. But he was the son of Morzan. There was little difference. Though she had been trained by the tyrant, but he had been given some of his abilities through sparring sessions with her and Murtagh, who too, appeared to have learned a great deal from the King. He realized that his emotions were still something he needed to overcome in times of great need for they impeded his judgment and created new problems. Lenora was not to be completely and wholly trusted, should they run into her again, but neither was she the enemy. She may be Galbatorix's daughter, but she wasn't Galbatorix. Murtagh may be Morzan's son, but he wasn't Morzan. And Eragon may be the son of the same corrupted rider, but neither was he his father. Eragon had discovered that while one's background could be black, everyone had the ability to shape their future. They had the ability to act upon their sense of right or wrong. Sometimes, it could be as convoluted as the Empire's politics, but it was there.

--

Miles away, Galbatorix's creatively sinister mind was constructing a work that was cruel in its simplicity. Sometimes all one had to do was make the best of a situation.

--

**Big Brother is watching… I'm so incredibly sorry for the **_**really**_** late update-this past month hasn't been the greatest. Just started college and the homework piles up the first day. I'll update again after eight reviews, probably within a week or two at most, thanks for the extras lately! Thanks to hpjedi1, YASHA3393, Fresh Blood, Dumbledare, lulu, SandStorm, Pikachu, Flaming Dawn, Squashed Banana, jdb12, whee and dreamgirl555 for the reviews and my friend from GC for reading.**

**-Emerald Dragon Rider**


	27. Followed

Chapter 26-Followed

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of Paolini's characters. I also made up a few of the words in the ancient language in this chapter but the rest belong to Paolini.**

**In response to some reviews, I will inform all of you now that I am NOT going to abandon this story because Brisingr ****is out. I am refusing to read it until further notice as I don't want it to influence my writing. As I'm sure all of you know, this is torture, so enjoy the chapter and _please_ ****keep anything about the new book to yourselves!**

--

The Beor Mountains had not changed since Eragon's last journey through the imposing masses. The eerie feeling of being watched still lingered with the group as they navigated through the valleys which Eragon remembered as the way to Farthen Dûr. Through the entrance into the mountain range, immeasurable heights on either side, their senses had heightened and the awareness of the unnatural beings that resided in the strange mountains became so familiar, it no longer unnerved them so openly. However, though he would not admit the fear to his comrades, the rider felt the lack of life through their travels was almost worse than an outright attack. The lull presented to them only left more room for opportunity-a chance to take them unawares when they had become accustomed to the quiet. Silence was much more dangerous than the clamor that Eragon normally associated with the Spine. As Eragon's hand rested on the smooth pommel of his blade, so too had Roran left his hand upon the handle of his hammer, steering his horse near Katrina's as they rode.

Yet the Beors were not lifeless. As their mounts carried them, the echoing calls of unseen birds whistled through the gigantic trees, causing the horses' ears to flick back and forth in agitation. Despite his best efforts, even Eragon's soothing mental words to the animals couldn't eliminate the tension each of them still felt through their seats. Lenora's charger still remained tied to Eragon's bay gelding, and though burdened with supplies to compensate for the others, he held his tail high and flared his nostrils, his gait a nervous prancing trot until one of the riders momentarily soothed him. During the night, they had taken to tying the animals together to the smallest tree near their campfire, as they would calm one another and found it difficult to move far when there were three others in the same predicament. Only in Saphira's presence, which the horses now found comforting, would they settle into an uneasy peace.

The nerves of the travelers were similar to those of their mounts, but none of them wished to reveal such to the other. Each with pupils wide to see through the thick trees where little sunlight shone through, they rode on, using peripheral vision to watch the surrounding trees through the gaps. Dead needles cracked beneath hard hooves, the only constant sound through their days. To allow themselves the greatest advantage over potential attack, they remained silent most of the day, conversing mentally. Eragon let his mind wander through the forest, reveling in the consciousnesses of multitudes of creatures he neither noticed before nor could name presently. He had to focus his mind to block the uncountable insects and normally small animals that were thrice their normal size to notice the creatures that could pose a threat to the group. On the day they were to follow the Beartooth River into the narrow valley of the mountains, a mind stood out from the rest, faint but something he knew was not there before.

_Saphira, extend your mind. Do you notice that too? _Flying low over the trees, the dragoness dropped her mental shields and scanned the immediate forest. Feeling nothing out of the ordinary, she stretched her mind past the minds of the group and the animals she felt normally to discover the spike. Then, faintly, a mind of intelligence flickered on the borders of her mind, wavering in and out, many hours behind the group.

_Aye, it seems nearly too far to pose any danger, but I have not felt it before. I cannot determine what it is; it will not let me concentrate long enough before it disappears and returns. If it bothers you, I can investigate._

_I don't want you going after something that could pose a threat to even you, Saphira. Oromis' texts proposed there were still species left to find. We have little idea what you may encounter, _he replied skeptically.

_Nonsense, it shan't be able to beat anything I can throw at it, should it foolishly decide to attack. What creature of lore or legend can take a dragon? Besides, I can be there and back in little more than an hour, _she said smugly._ Those so-called 'horses' are by no means an efficient mode of transportation when you are a dragon rider. It becomes exceedingly dull flying so sluggishly for days on end. _

_Saphira, for all we know, it could be Murtagh! What would you do then if you happened to come upon him without your rider?_

_Fight, as usual. We may be dragon and rider, but I am still quite capable of fighting without you. Keep your senses sharp, I will return soon. _With little means to stop his stubborn dragon from her adventure, Eragon turned his head to the sky to watch as she lazily dipped a wing and elegantly turned to face the way they had come. Using strong, quick flaps, she accelerated quickly and they could no longer hear her wing beats in a moment's time.

_--_

Sitting on the bank of the Beartooth River, Lenora's gedwëy ignasia shone a bright emerald green as she slowly levitated a smooth stone from beneath the rushing waters, several feet away. The water reflected off the sheath of her sword in the thin streams of light from between the trees. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of her head, the result of a mixture of concentration and anxiety at the possibilities of what could happen should she overstep her limits. Confident with this outcome, she closed her eyes, hand outstretched and trembling slightly. The clearing filled with sound of a few distinct words in the flowing language. More stones of differing shades rose from beneath the surface to the same level, until six of the sparkling rocks hovered, droplets returning to the river. Again, Lenora opened her eyes and took in the scene before her. Her hand traveling in similar patterns, the stones rose to differing heights, flipping back and forth and forming a circle. Then she commanded an orb of the liquid to rise into the middle of the formation. An unnatural bubble penetrated the surface of the river, but instead of bursting, it filled with water and broke free. It rose until it shivered in the midst of the stones.

Ignoring the piercing eyes of her dragon on the opposite bank, Lenora took the magic and created a dance between elements. Facets of earth and water twirled about one another as she made the stones swarm around the orb in random paths. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the rocks took to another formation, dancing around one another, twisting in a narrow cylinder about the water. Another few words and the water broke from its binding into droplets that came back to form a stream that twisted between the stones. Neither stone nor water collided with the other as they danced together in the air in increasingly more difficult patterns and designs limited only by the rider's creativity. Her mind focused, the concentration collapsed when Eridor's consciousness entered her mind. Promptly, the magic erupted and the water and stones fell to their original home with subsequent splashes, droplets landing on her face and bare arms.

_Eridor, why now of all times would you decide to talk to me? _she began. _Is it not--_

_There's something approaching, _he said, rising from the ground and ignoring his rider's low tolerance level. _Listen. _In these precarious mountains, any sign of a threat was to be taken seriously at all times. She listened intently and could faintly hear approaching wing beats.

_Saphira must have noticed us, _she said. Traveling under the cloak of darkness, it was far more unlikely they would be seen or heard by the group should they mistakenly approach too near. They had taken their chances and come closer than usual the night before to ensure they didn't lose the group when they entered the valley. Alongside the river, the scent could be lost and they didn't know what lay in the narrow crevice the river fed into.

_Either we must move or she is going to catch us, _Eridor stated. _I might be able to hide under the branches of these trees, but there isn't anything we can do about our minds. You better hope Eragon has changed his opinion of you._

Then fortune shined upon the cursed dragon and rider as a nearby branch cracked and crashed to the forest floor as a small creature resembling a dragon leapt above the canopy with an odd screech instead of a roar. A pair followed, appearing to have been above their heads for the past few hours without either of them taking notice. They quickly determined these weren't dragons due to their unique features, as they rose into the sky and disappeared from their limited view. Instead of approaching further, Saphira appeared to have stopped and was now hovering. No interaction between the beasts occurred and before a few moments had passed, they could hear her massive wings receding into the distance.

_Well that settled that quite nicely, _Lenora remarked. _I would prefer more time before we meet with the group again. What do you think those were?_

_I know not, _he said. Rearing back on his haunches, with a single flap of his wings, he cleared the river and sunk into the moist soil on the opposite side. _But I'd rather we choose another clearing until nightfall. We don't know what those things are capable of._

_Are you a lizard or a dragon? They didn't do anything to us the whole time we've been here. Either they knew they were no match for you, or they aren't dangerous, _Lenora said. _But I do agree with you: the animals here are as mysterious as the mountains themselves. _

Having grown accustomed to his rider's backhanded, normally sarcastic insults, the dragon crouched. With a small grumble of annoyance, Lenora glanced toward where the saddle and bags rested on the ground. Eridor had taken to wearing Saphira's unmolded leather saddle which Lenora was wont to return to Eragon prior to leaving the group. Confident in her abilities again, instead of physically lifting the items, she again directed her palm to conjure her magic. Before Eridor could protest, she had spoken the words,

"Suda un paran reisa un stydja vel iet Skulblaka."

The packs and saddle lifted from the ground and positioned themselves across the dragon's back as neatly as if she had done it herself. A simple spell but effective nonetheless. A small wave of fatigue swept over her, but both of them breathed a sigh of relief when nothing more occurred.

_That was stretching your limits, Lenora. We have yet to discover what will trigger another attack. _She shrugged off his comment and limped over to fasten the straps around his girth and chest. Then his next comment surprised her. _But you have improved._

A rare smile crossing her features, she rubbed the glimmering green scales. Having ridden a horse for weeks had strengthened Lenora's desire to rest upon the back of her closest friend, and she climbed into the saddle eagerly. He stretched his legs and wings, brushing the needles of the nearest trees. With a gust that rustled even the large branches, they were again airborne. Her hair blew freely in the wind as the dragon's claws brushed the tree tops, following the river below.

_Do you think I will ever be able to do more than mundane tasks with my magic? I wouldn't be much of a dragon rider were I not proficient in the art._

_I believe you question yourself too much, but then when you feel inclined, you take chances whether you believe in yourself or not. If you chose to believe in your abilities, we could be great whether you wielded magic like an elf or could only make rocks dance, _he replied. _As yet, you have only learned a few words of the ancient language. Saphira told me they had to speak solely in the elven tongue in order to gain an appreciation for the difficulty of learning another language so powerful in its entirety. _

_As always, you present more wisdom than myself, _Lenora mused.

_It's only from centuries-old instinctual knowledge, _he replied, tipping forward and descending into another grove of the eerie trees. _I have little in the way of experience as you do._

_And look where that experience landed us. Stalking the Varden's rider and dragon as if we _were_ working for the Empire._

_If I recall correctly, that was your decision, _he said, mocking the rider. The dragon landed in a graceful manner, keeping his poise even in the depths of the unwelcoming mountains.

_Does a shrewd wit come with the instinct? _His retaliating growl was unconvincing as it sounded more like a laugh. _We will meet again with them when we must. One way or the other, we must know where they are going and how to enter Farthen Dûr._

_--_

After the supposed Fanghur incident, the group had navigated through the remainder of the Beors with relative ease. Upon reaching the lake of Kóstha-mérna, they had taken their horses single file along one edge until they could assemble beside Saphira on the opposite side. Eragon dismounted his horse, Roran and Katrina following suit. They stood in front of the imposing mountain as if their hardships had just begun.

"Where is the entrance, brother?" Roran asked with a skeptical tone.

"Through the falls," Eragon responded distractedly, the matter upon his mind.

"You've gone through this before? I'm surprised you weren't crushed," Roran remarked. "And what of Katrina?" She placed her hand upon his shoulder.

"If you can make it through, I will be right behind you," she assured him.

"I am not so sure," Eragon said. "When I first attempted to make it through, I nearly drowned. You must be able to dive at precisely the right angle to be able to make in through the torrent. Granted, I have been given a great gift since then and am confident that I will be able to successfully cross beneath, I doubt either of you would be so fortunate." They nodded in understanding, but now were left with a more daunting outlook on what was to follow. "But with this gift I believe I might be able to try something different."

"You're not thinking of just pulling us through are you?" Katrina asked. "Despite your elven strengh, that would be risking all of our lives. And what good would you do the Varden, lying lifeless at the bottom of their falls?"

"Aye, a good point Katrina, but my idea is something that should be less perilous. Since the Agaetí Blödhren, my magic has increased to many times what it was the time when I visited Farthen Dûr previously."

_You had better fill me in on the details of this little magic trick you're about to attempt so that I can decide if you're being foolish or not, _Saphira said. Eragon turned and took in her gigantic frame, deciding it would be unwise to deny her request.

_I can part the waterfall easily now. Then, it would have been a feat that would bring me close to death, but my strength has increased tenfold since that time. If I falter, you can lend me your strength, _Eragon said. Before his dragon could protest, he added,_ This way, not only will Roran and Katrina be protected from harm, but the horses can make it through as well. Without the threat of Urgals, it would be much more difficult to convince them to pass through the falls. They we may all easily swim across, or in your case, jump._

_Sounds like the mighty dragon rider is looking for a chance to show off, _she replied. _But go ahead. What you say makes sense. _

Before performing the spell, Eragon warned his companions of what was to occur.

"When we get past this first obstacle, we will soon be met by the guards. They will demand to inspect each of your minds when we enter Tronjheim. Do not let them take you by surprise or allow them to infer anything other than what they are told. I know not how the conditions of Tronjheim have changed since the war." Though surprised at Saphira's sudden leniency, Eragon then searched for his magic. Finding it quickly, he constructed the words to create a spell that would be effective but use no more energy than necessary. Closing his eyes, he channeled the magic into the task.

_Adurna __waíse paratho, un atra nosu etran._ The waterfall broke some distance above them, a path forming between two cascading torrents of water. Not wishing to chance her rider losing his concentration, Saphira instructed the horses to follow Katrina and Roran who had dived into the frigid water and begun to swim across as they realized what Eragon's magic had accomplished. Feeling the minds of his group were past the water safely, he again took in his surroundings to see Saphira before him. She crouched and he climbed into her saddle. As she positioned herself facing the tunnel between the walls of water, she stretched her wings. Giving a single, strong flap and launching her bulk from the ground, she then tucked the membranes to her sides. As they flew through the air, the mist from the falls covered Eragon's face and made Saphira's scales slick. Eragon released the magic as soon as Saphira hit the ground and the lake behind them disappeared behind the crashing falls. Roran and Katrina stood together, sodden. The horses' eyes wheeled, whites showing. But they were safe.

Even before the rider dismounted, the great stone doors of the mountain had begun to grind open. The guards had clearly noticed their arrival; a massive blue dragon was difficult to miss. But not one member of the group knew truly what to expect as the blackness between the doors grew.

--

**Unimportant: Thanks for the very informative review. Good to know my rushed ending of the last chap wasn't evident in the writing. It's also good to hear the opposite of what most people say about the mary-sue part. As I've tried to explain, Lenora is not a mary-sue and I'm glad you noticed the difference. Thanks for the suggestions; I will take them into account but I'm going to leave you and everyone else guessing, as always. It's my job as an author to be evil and leave lots of cliffhangers.**

**Once again, I'm very sorry for the overdue update. From here on out, I am going to have to say the update will come when it comes. Unfortunately, college has consumed nearly 100 of any and all free time that I would normally have to write, so I will do my best to write as much as I can over weekends and when I can spare a few hours. Weekly updates will probably become nonexistent except for over breaks, but I will infrequently update with gaps more than a month. I owe all of you an apology for this turn of events, but in all honesty, it is not much of a change. I thank everyone who has stayed with me thus far and I hope that even with the book's release, that most of you continue reading and reviewing. **

**Thanks to Fresh Blood, StefanBeta110, Yasha3393, Cathycalamitous, Unimportant, Lulu, Platypus Caper, Sandstorm, Flaming Dawn, Pikachu and Dumbledare for the reviews, and Sabrina for reading!**

**-Emerald Dragon Rider**


	28. Witchcraft

Chapter 27-Witchcraft

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series or any of Paolini's characters. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

--

Word spread quickly through the city of Tronjheim. It was said that the rider was back, with urgent news only disclosed to Nasuada and Orik, the new leader of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. Though tension ran rampant through the mountain, present among not only those who were being prepared for the war, the addition of an unknown sense of urgency and apprehension added to the atmosphere and escalated the pressure between all individuals. Arguments broke out between the dwarves, who found that their new head-of-clan was as cryptic as the Varden's leader. Angered by the lack of information that was dire to the war, the residents of the city were finding it increasingly more difficult to maintain a strong unity. The dwarves themselves, already in a state of disarray, resented the upcoming election of their new King, as one of the candidates was none other than the dragon-loving leader of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.

The rumors that circulated within the mountain were not lost on Angela, who had traveled with the people of the Varden to return to their home after the battle at the Burning Plains. Knowing Eragon and Saphira would likely return to the Varden before embarking on a new quest, she had been especially interested in the news, but found that the rider and dragon had been elusive since their return several days prior. Having been implemented into the Du Vrangr Gata, the witch was offended at the lack of information she had been given. Provided, the group of magicians had much more access to magic than she herself, but she had the knowledge to provide them with the words of the ancient language which Eragon had not had the time to give to the group, as well as her own stock of weaponry for their new line of trebuchets and other machinery. Without her, their advantage over the Empire would be little to boast about.

But a new source has uncovered a secret Angela rightly guessed was supposed to be contained. As interested in the ambiguity of their leaders words as she, Solembum had assigned to himself a hunt for any scrap of information he could gather. As quietly as a feline, though he would never admit to such a degradation, he padded across the floors of the upper levels of Farthen Dûr which were being used as a more secretive place for divulging the information the leaders wished to remain exclusive. As the cunning werecat prowled the floors, appearing as unassuming as a cat searching for mice, he paraded before the guards stationed at the rooms where meetings were held. In spite of the growing suspicion on the guards' faces as he passed by time and time again, Solembum was able to piece together words he heard through the crack between the doors or when one of the members entered or left during the processes. Even though his ears, certainly more attuned than those of the guards, could pick out the few distant words in the time it took for the door to open and close, the task was time consuming and he was beginning to wonder if there were better method.

To maintain his guise, he quickly darted after a mouse that had skittered along the wall and stepped on its tail. Taking the creature in his jaws, he left it wriggling as he again walked past the double doors. Metal clinked together as one of the men shifted. It was possible that the mouse bothered the guard as they could imagine themselves in such a bind once the war had begun-trapped, helpless and at the mercy of their captor. Able to be manipulated, like the frightened animals they knew resided behind their mask of courage and indifference. The werecat smiled to himself; perhaps persuading these simple humans to tell him a few of their secrets could prove easier than he thought. The mouse squirmed in his grasp and he dropped it on the floor once around a corner-he wasn't looking for a meal, and his curiosity had gotten the better of him. The rodent hit the stone floor with a squeak, took to its feet and ran in leaping bounds to the nearest hideaway, as a shadow grew upon the wall. In the werecat's place stood a young naked boy with sharp teeth and jet-black messy hair. He stuck his hand in a crevice in the wall where no doubt, more mice lingered. How they had managed to survive in such a desolate stone fortress was anyone's guess, but Solembum paid them little heed as he removed a small set of clothing from the gap and dressed quietly. This was certainly going to be interesting.

--

Angela sat at the desk in her quarters, surrounded by parchments which contained countless lines of potions, experimental spells in the ancient language, and weapon designs-simply a few of the tactics and strategies that could prove useful in warfare. Though not Nasuada's personal advisor in the field, after the performance of several of her more creative techniques, Angela had been placed among the more prestigious and respected advisors in combat. Having many times the experience on the battlefield, due simply to her unknown but undoubtedly old age, promoted the witch to the tireless tasks of guiding her fellow warfare leaders in the right direction. Though never fully devoting her whole being to such a project before, Angela found that despite the constant work and relentless stress, the job pleased her and kept her busy where she would otherwise spend her time as a simple resident of the city with little to do other than wait for the impending war. She was already a proficient fighter, she mused, as she watched from a nearby window as the many rows of new recruits practiced deadly moves and techniques.

As a result, Elva's care had been placed mainly on the shoulders of Solembum, who regularly took the child out for adventures in the massive mountain, always finding something to interest her. In spite of the fact that Eragon had relieved her of the curse, Elva still had grown more rapidly than a normal child. She now waddling around with the werecat, seemingly not preferring one form over the other. As Angela found this a great help, Solembum appeared the enjoy the company, as long as he wasn't disturbed from his slumber. They were often found together, sleeping in the pile of blankets near the desk while Angela worked. The werecat had currently left the small girl asleep in this very nest as he wandered the hallways on his personal mission.

As such, it was peculiar that Angela be left in the dark concerning the Eragon's return. Du Vrangr Gata remained a project, and as she had yet to master the art of magic herself, the aid of the rider would accelerate their progress significantly. Yet no one knew where the dragon and rider were. Resigning herself from the exceedingly ineffective task of uncovering this information, the witch pulled a scrap of parchment from beneath the clutter. This was one of her more favored designs. She and Solembum had gathered sap from the forests surrounding the fortress and combined this seemingly harmless ingredient with a few drops of venom taken from the thorns of a brilliantly colored flower, and the crushed bodies of fire ants, among other small additions. The concoction was unassuming in its appearance, but most unpleasant upon its consumption. So subtle, yet so powerful; Angela's favorite tactic. Always underestimated, then forever feared. Using this as a fine mist that could be distributed over the troops and food of the opposition could have a similar effect as the wild mushrooms she had already used on the Empire. As she imagined the many other creative methods she could use with what she called "Devil's Treat," Solembum returned, tail held high and lips curled back in a mocking sneer.

Angela left his business to himself, only imagining what he could have been up to. As she dipped her quill in the ink, refining the design of another deadly machine that required the use of horses, the werecat leapt onto the desk, landing silently with his tail swishing back and forth. He casually licked a paw as he contemplated her many hours of work.

_Aren't you going to ask me what I've discovered? _he asked, his full attention now upon his cleaning as if her interest was of little concern. He had been able to capture the attention of one of the guards with his unique and slightly daunting appearance, gleaning information that they would have been presented with much later.

_If you've come to inform me that Du Vrangr Gata has had yet another mishap with their amateur magic use, I have little want to hear it, _she replied mentally, not wishing to rouse the child near her feet.

_Hardly, _he droned. _This is much more interesting than a few people blowing a room to pieces and singeing their hair. _

Angela rolled her eyes at his cryptic ways. The werecat's tendencies grew wearing at times. _Alright Solembum, what is it you've found?_

_If you must know, Saphira and the rider will be appearing this evening below the dragon hold to speak and heal Isidar Mithrim._

_Is that all? _Angela asked, reading the tone in his voice and knowing it wasn't.

_Nay. I too have listened to some interesting discussions. It would seem that the rumors are true._

Angela questioned his certainty. _And who told you this? Nasuada herself?_

_I have my sources, _he responded curtly, deep yellow eyes locking onto hers to ensure he was positive in his claims.

_Well do we have any idea who the rider may be? _she tested.

_While I was not able to determine the identity of the rider, I have been informed that until recently, this rider has been in the company of our very own. And something else that might be of interest: I can tell you the name._

Angela's patience was wearing thin. "Solembum, _will _you tell me the name?"

_And why? Would it have any significance?_

"I've been around a long time, Solembum, but I won't know unless you tell me," she said sternly.

_I will make you a deal, _he said, watching her features tighten in annoyance. _I give you the name, and you allow me to add a little something to one of these tactics you've designed. _

A reasonable request. _Deal. Whichever you desire, you can add your improvisations. I didn't realize you had a passion for warfare. Now what is the name?_

The werecat's tail twitched and his ears lay back to add mystery and worth to the small detail. _Lenora._

--

As soon as Solembum had divulged the rider's name, he had set about adding a curious element to one of Angela's tactics. From the looks of what he wrote after transforming again, cockroaches and their amazing ability to thrive in whatever circumstance would play an important role in this new, improved method. But the witch took little notice to this addition; her mind was lost in her memories. While the fact that the rider was female intrigued her, there was little else to wonder about without the knowledge of who she was. It was unlikely that Solembum would offer any more information about what he heard, had he kept anything from her. Werecats and their secretive ways…The name didn't strike any immediate chord within her, but with as much time and travel as she had within Alagaësia, it was possible she had come across the individual. She tried to organize her thoughts away from the constant strategic planning she had been doing for hours previously to focus on the fortunes she had told. Only a certain few people had been given the gift of knowing the outline of their future. Of course, Eragon, had been one of those few. And his mother, Selena, too had been an interesting case. Those that she had given their fortunes to either were, or were connected to, dragon riders. Yet Angela remembered the faces and the people to whom she had given these secrets and there had not been a Lenora. But after some thought, the name did seem somewhat familiar…

_You do know that Lenora was the name of one of the Forsworn's dragons, do you not? _Solembum asked.

"Of course!" Angela mused. _I knew I had heard the name before. But who would name their daughter after a dragon of the Forsworn? _It could be that this rider was not so friendly as the Varden would hope. _Perhaps that is why they're being so secretive…_but they had yet to see Eragon and Saphira. Someone would have spread the word had they come with another dragon and rider in tow. Why had they been traveling together in the first place, and what would cause them to split up? Angela toyed with these, and many other ideas until Solembum's writing caught her eye and she had to admit: the werecat's idea was far fetched, but it could work. She considered allowing him to peruse the other ideas she had come up with before presenting them to Nasuada and Du Vrangr Gata.

--

The artificial sunlight streamed down upon the crowds of people who had filled the area below the dragon hold. In only a few minutes time, their rider and dragon would appear with a speech and to repair the broke Star Sapphire. However, due to the increasingly die situation with the dwarves, Nasuada had insisted upon guards to accompany them, even within the depths of the mountain. It seemed that the Shur'tugal was no longer safe within his own company. Both he and Saphira hoped to mend some of these broken bonds with one of their promises fulfilled that night. As they approached the massive room, filled with the bustle of thousands of people, crammed uncomfortably in order to more easily see what was to come, apprehension filled Eragon's stomach.

_Are you sure that we are going to be able to mend the sapphire? _Eragon asked as they walked, side by side, through a tunnel that connected to the room._ It's massive, and you and I both know that should we overexert ourselves, we will no longer be there to help the Varden, all over a precious artifact._

_Don't worry, I have a plan. We've heard about the election that is to begin tomorrow, and the dwarves are not exactly pleased about Orik being a potential for their new King. As we know, dragons are not revered within their race as in others, and Orik has presented himself as a leader who favors dragons, riders, and the like. It is a great help that the dwarves have been able to reconstruct the shape of the rose, however shattered and broken it may appear, _Saphira replied, referring to the massive reassembled rose, which had taken the dwarves several careful weeks to rebuild. Too large to be moved, it remained in the middle of the room as they entered. The crowds had surrounded the sapphire, playing witness to the tragic object it had become in comparison to the once grand icon it resembled. _While we may not be able to mend Isidar Mithrim completely tonight, I believe that if we can lift it, through both magic and might, back into the floor of the dragon hold, we can set in motion a change in thinking. With this simple action, we may become more appreciated and Orik will be given a better chance at winning his place as King of the dwarves. _

_And you believe that is the best route, after observing Lenora's vision? Perhaps if we keep Orik from becoming King, we can avoid the situation altogether and thus save his life._

_Eragon, you were there when they said they had doubled their guards and Orik was certain that, no matter how the dwarves felt about him, they wouldn't go so far as to assassinate one of their own. After Hrothgar's death, they wouldn't dream to stoop so low. They are already in a state of depression; another death like that would help no one and simply prolong this agony. While the dwarves may live in tunnels and within the insides of mountains, they are not stone heads, _she stated. _Orik deserves the best chance as King, for we all know he would benefit his people greatly and play a vital role in the war._

_I hope you're right, _Eragon said as they took their place in front of the Varden. Nasuada stood nearby, her guards not appearing quite as tense as Eragon's. Saphira settled down on her haunches beside him, head held high. In order to prevent a barrage of questions concerning the rumors that had spread, she had spoken with her people before the rider was to appear. Though disgruntled about the continuous mystery, this was a time for celebration, and few wished to question their fair leader.

"People of the Varden," Eragon addressed his audience. "Saphira and I are glad to be back within the walls of Tronjheim. We know that the election is soon to begin and feel fortunate to be able to play a role in such a significant process. While Hrothgar's passing has been a tragedy, we know that this opens up the opportunity for those of you running in the election. The dwarves deserve a fair and willing leader who will propel them into better and more prosperous times. Whether this leader supports the dragon race or not is the least of our worries, but we hope that with this promise fulfilled, we can express to all of you how important we consider our responsibilities and our word as dragon and rider."

_Had the dest__ruction of Isidar Mithrim been avoidable, Arya and I would have never broken this magnificent piece of art. However, due to the severity of the situation, the times deemed it necessary. And now, I come to repair the Star Rose. But let me warn you, dear friends of the Varden, that this is an enormous process that will not be able to be done in a single effort, _Saphira continued. _This evening, with the help of my rider, we will raise the rose into its original home and set it there to be completed at a later time, when we possess the strength to complete the project. _

Murmurs spread through the crowd, but what Saphira said was undeniable. Even a rider and dragon would no doubt find difficulty in the task, as could easily have been determined from the efforts the dwarves had taken to reassemble the rose. With their words said, Eragon maneuvered his way around to the opposite side of the star sapphire, several guards in tow, while Saphira remained in the only space she could fit.

_Are you ready to do this? _Eragon asked.

_Aye, it must be done. _After advising the crowds to move safely back, the dragon and rider reinforced the construction of the rose before attempting to lift the mass before them, to ensure no parts fell off and crashed into the people below. While Eragon examined the interior of the sapphire, Saphira took a deep breath and exhaled a jet of blue flames that encased the red sapphire, fusing the bonds between the pieces. Once the process was complete however, Isidar Mithrim was only more structured and certainly no more attractive than before.

The words having been agreed upon and the spell put together beforehand with Saphira, Eragon closed his eyes and mentally related words carefully that would complete their task, hand held outstretched before him. Saphira remained his buffer, lending him her strength as the Star Sapphire rose slowly into the air and into the floor of the dragon hold. Finding his elven transformation had tripled his magical strength and given him an advantage over spells he would once find trying, Eragon was surprised when he realized that raising the mass took more energy he would have liked. He felt his dragon's energy flowing through him with every passing moment, knowing that with the words said, he could not take back the magic that stole his strength. As his muscles began to tremble and his hair dripped with sweat, Eragon cautiously opened his eyes to see the sapphire slide into the hole in the ceiling, high above the city. Despite their anxieties, even some of the dwarves joined the crowds in cheering, applauding the rider's efforts, but the task was not yet complete. To steady the sapphire, Eragon had added into the spell a final addition that would stabilize it once affixed in its place. This took its final draw upon their bodies before the magic was terminated and Eragon knew he would not remain conscious for much longer. Though she was fatigued as well, Saphira approached him, parting the crowds that had filled in the middle of the room once the rose had been lifted high above them.

_I knew that would take a lot of energy, but I didn't realize it would be quite that much, _he admitted to her, placing a hand on her side to steady himself. The guards that surrounded them looked uneasy, ready to catch the rider should he fall.

_Aye, _she said. Relieving the guards of their worries, she took Eragon's tunic in her teeth and lifted him gently onto her back. _Let's go rest. _As they left the room, the Shur'tugal barely noticed the dimly lit hallways as he drifted to sleep with the rhythm of the dragon's steps, oblivious to the witch and werecat who were held back by their security.

--

**A/N: I know it's been 16 days since my last update, but that's still better than usual. Don't hesitate to tell me if this chapter seems rushed-I pretty much wrote it in a day.**

**Sandstorm: A Mary-Sue is a "perfect" character, who doesn't seem to have any flaws, or one that just has the regular flaws who is perfect in every other way. They can be unusually arrogant, but be great fighters and personable. I've tried to keep Lenora from being a Mary-Sue, which is the why I crippled and alienated her.**

**Thanks to Platypus Caper, YASHA3393, Eragon's Baby Mama, Sandstorm, Katherine, Crimson-Dragon-Rider and Smileysun for the reviews and everyone for the adds. R&R!**

**-Emerald Dragon Rider**


	29. Deception

Chapter 28-Deception

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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Camouflaged in the foliage on a nearby ridge, Lenora and Eridor watched the group. Small shafts of light reflected off the smooth scales of the dragon, playing onto the dead leaves and pine needles that littered the forest floor. Though they could easily see Saphira and the small figures of the rest of the group, they remained too far to hear what was occurring in order to stay undetected. However with the advantage of sight, they were now able to use a scryed image and watch the processes unfold. Lenora found that upon her first attempt to scry Eragon, the image remained blank. Resorting to the next best option, she then tried Saphira and was able to gain an image from there. Despite this perplexing setback, the rest of the group was revealed thereafter. Having practiced using small quantities of magic for some time, Lenora now had the ability to conjure sound from the images. With this improvement, they eavesdropped on Eragon's plans in hopes to discover how to enter the mountain.

Upon listening to Eragon's description of the treachery involved in an attempt to navigate the falls, Lenora was disheartened. The knowledge of her physical inabilities to swim strongly enough or perform the same complex spell aggravated her as she watched with dismay as the rider parted the water in two with ease, allowing the group to wade through the middle safely. The image beyond the water showed a flat wall, which parted into doors. Though they could not see who it was that greeted the group, she watched as Eragon appeared to embrace someone with a smile before introducing Roran and Katrina. The reunion was brief and the conversation was soon taken inside. The background turned blank, and Lenora found that following them further would aid her little. The image faded and the effects caught up to her. Even with practice, the magic still took its toll. It would take some time before her body was used to the consequences, however insignificant a spell she used.

_That was rather inconclusive, _commented Eridor.

_Thank you, my scaly, obvious dragon, _Lenora retorted. _How are we going to get in? _

_Don't ask me, I saw the same that you did. We both know that even if you could dive at the correct angle, with your leg you would never make in through that water._

_I repeat, thank you--_

_Aye, your scaly, obvious dragon. I know,_ he said. _Got to protect my title, you know. _As she glanced up at him, she saw his face in a toothy grin-the dragon equivalent of a smirk. She lightly smacked his side.

_What is it with dragons? _Lenora thought to herself. _We don't even know what's beyond those doors, but whoever came out to greet them was obviously a friend. I very much doubt we'll be regarded as such. _

_Well we cannot stay out here and wait for your vision to come true. While Murtagh was convinced the vision was fake, we must make sure it doesn't come to pass. Galbatorix could have instructed him to deter us from attempting to enter the Varden as it would hinder his efforts to capture or kill us. One way or another, we must get in. _

_Even if we do get in, we won't go unnoticed. Do you realize how large you've gotten recently? _she asked him. In response, the dragon backed up and spread his wings between the trees, looking from one to the other.

_I'm not that big, _he said. _But I guess you're right. People would certainly stop and gape at me were I to pass in front of them. _

_Well at the least, you're certainly big-headed, _she joked.

_Speak for yourself, _he retorted, settling upon the ground next to her. _When it comes to fighting, you've got enough confidence for the both of us! _

_Alright, enough! _Lenora said, though she couldn't hide her smile. _We need to figure out how to get in. That dwarf's life could depend on us, and that would be the perfect opportunity to prove ourselves to the Varden._

_After sneaking into their mountain? It's doubtful that they will welcome us with open arms._

_Aye, it's not the best approach, but you heard what Eragon said-they examine the minds of anyone who enters who has not previously been through and found acceptable. No doubt Eragon will soon tell them about us, being as "ruthless" as we are. They surely wouldn't listen to us, much less allow us to pass, _she said. _But we cannot allow that to deter us._

_So what do you propose we do, mighty rider?_

Lenora sighed, glancing up through the trees at the descending sun. _I know not. Give me some time to think on it._

_With pleasure, _Eridor replied, rising again to his feet and opening his wings. The last shafts of sun filtered through the membranes, dulling the light as it shone upon his rider. _I've an empty belly. Would you like something?_

Remembering the massive rabbit Eridor had deposited at her feet the first time he had hunted with the mountains, Lenora was wont to ask for food. _If you can stay your greedy instincts, I'll simply take a piece from your kill._

After a pause, the emerald dragon agreed, but the tone in his voice sounded like that of a young child forced to share a precious toy. As he leapt from the forest floor, leveling out directly above the canopy to avoid detection, Lenora lay back against a smooth rock and closed her eyes for a moment. To take the guards by force would be an endeavor surely met with injury and their discovery. But to attempt secrecy was assumingly impossible. To pass through the waterfall would require a great amount of strength, but she mused that perhaps Eridor was now strong enough to leap through the water with her upon his back. But that would prove incredibly careless and revealing; they may as well hand themselves over to the guards in ribbons.

As she gave thought to the ideas, she slowly drifted off to sleep. Eridor returned and ate quietly nearby to deter predators, saving a piece of the kill wrapped awkwardly in a cloth. He curled gently around both the rock and rider, yellow eyes bright and alert in the darkness.

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Lenora woke with a start, grimacing at the smart in her back from sleeping against a rock the entire night. She took in her surroundings, trying to remember when she fell asleep.

_Morning, _Eridor said. _Do you do your best thinking while asleep?_

_Oh, and I suppose you came up with a few bright ideas yourself? _she retorted. He yawned casually.

_As a matter of fact, I have, _he stated, gazing down at her. _While you slept, I came up with a plan that just might work._

Surprised, Lenora cocked an eyebrow. _And that would be?_

_After our discussion last night, I turned your comment around on you. While this scaly hide of mine may have changed, so has yours, _Eridor commented slyly. She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to continue. _Due to Saphira's gift, after only a brief time as a rider, you look nearly as if you could be an elf…a rough elf at that, but perhaps with the absence of a dragon, your pointed ears and fine features may pass._

Skeptical, Lenora pushed herself from the ground and grabbed the waterskin, glancing back at the dragon to ensure he wasn't playing her. She squeezed a small amount into a dish in in the rock against which she had slept and peered at her reflection. Her eyes shone with wonder, having not seen herself in months. The tips of her ears had taken to a subtle point, her face had become slightly less rough and the scars which marred her features seemed faded. Her golden hair framed this new face of hers in wavy locks. The emerald face of her dragon appeared behind her.

_It would seem the fugitive has perhaps become wanted on more than one level, _he commented. With a grin, she turned and wrapped her arms around his snout, letting the vibrations of his hum reverberate through her.

_Now tell me, _she said, pulling away from his warmth. _What it is I might be able to do with these traits? What would an elf be doing in the middle of the Beors?_

_While Eragon was teaching you about the Varden and his time in Ellesméra, you did happen to catch the name of the Elvin Queen, did you not?_

_Queen…Islanzadi, _she replied, as her stomach rumbled.

_Aye. All you must do is tell the guards you are a messenger from Queen Islanzadi, come to give a message to Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden, _he said, sitting on his haunches and watching her for a reaction.

_You listened to a lot more than I gave you credit for, Eridor. But what will I do when they plan to search my mind? _She noticed the cloth with the meat, but in their close proximity to the mountain, starting a fire would be foolish. She dug through her pack and pulled out a bundle of berries and soft leaves she had found to be edible. She mused that she was turning into Eragon.

_What will you do? Must you even ask that question? I think you know exactly what to do, _he replied mischievously.

_That would cause chaos! Besides, they must surely confiscate weapons in the name of safety until the visitor has been proven trustworthy._

_Then leave your weapons with me. Use what you know of hand-to-hand combat, as you have always done, and leave them to live._

_What of the others? While a few may fight, as guards, it is their duty to inform the leader of a disturbance and a threat to both her and the Varden's welfare._

Eridor sat in thought for a moment. _There should be a way to attract the attention of all the primary guards without alarming them…_

As she leaned against a tree and slid to the ground to eat, Lenora noticed the glint of light off the hilt of the dagger in her boot, and paused. _I think I have it._

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_You can't be serious! _Eridor said, watching her suspiciously.

_What other way is there Eridor? We don't have many options, nor do we have the time, _she said.

_Well we certainly have the time to at least give thought to a few other ideas, _he said, standing to challenge her position. _Simply because you think you can handle it doesn't mean you should. Even if it does work, what would we do after? Hide in a dark corner and hope the guards don't pass by?_

She gazed up at him calmly. _We can do it on the day of the coronation. I can scry Saphira again. Given that this is an election of a King, no doubt it will be on the minds of more than a few individuals. There's bound to be talk of it. All we must do is enter shortly before, and then we can apprehend the archer._

_You make it sound as if it were the most simply task in all of Alagaësia, _he said, his tone becoming exasperated. He knew once his rider had set her mind, there was little he could do to reverse her thoughts. _What do you expect to happen afterwards?_

_That is where it gets tricky, _she admitted, as he snorted in disagreement. _I may be able to capture this mysterious assassin without drawing attention to myself. _

_And what, I just stand off to the side and allow my rider to put herself in harm's way, hoping for the best? I think not._

_You can hold down and smother him once I take away his bow and arrow. Does that suit you?_

Eridor grumbled in annoyance, but agreed. _At the very least, there should be a few days until the coronation that we can use to think of other methods in which we can do this._

_Shall we find out? _Lenora turned again to the water and murmured the words.

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Darvar's rough hands stacked the slips of parchment carefully, knowing they were essential to the future of his race. Having gone through rigorous mind examinations to ensure he held no intentions other than those he professed to the board, he had been given the privilege to handle the ballots, along with a group of other dwarves who had gone through the same processes. After each of the dwarves had voted for their candidate, their slip of parchment was placed in a magically sealed box that required a password in the ancient language that was changed daily in order to open. As the proceedings concluded for the day, Darvar and his group would gather these and bring them to the council where they would be again placed in a larger container and sorted by these elect dwarves who would ultimately determine the winning candidate, based upon the majority of votes within the council after reviewing the votes from the dwarves of Farthen Dûr.

The clans tended toward different candidates, premised upon who took to heart their values and who supported their beliefs. Given the circumstances of Hrothgar's death, it was to be assumed that a leader who supported the dragon race would likely not win the election. While Saphira and Eragon's efforts had certainly not gone unnoticed, all the dwarves knew that this election was going to result in a narrow range. Should the votes happen to produce no majority, these results would be sent to a new group of dwarves who would then decide who became King. The coronation was to be held the following night and the tension was becoming increasingly clear. Some of the members of Dûrgrimst Ebardac had expressed a deep loathing for Orik's values and assured whoever would listen that they would secede from the Varden and move to Tarnag should he win.

Darvar was certain that despite the lingering sadness from their late King's death, the next day was certain to be telling as to what the dwarves truly held sacred.

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Easily discovering both the date and place of the election by listening to the conversations that swirled about Saphira and Eragon, Lenora and Eridor were ready to set their plan in motion. Inside the mountain, a lone archer was under the impression that, disguised in the crowds of the audience, he would be effectively hidden and remain undiscovered. The emerald rider and dragon were determined to prove otherwise.

Coming to the conclusion that there was little other way to gain access to the fortress of a mountain, Eridor had finally agreed to Lenora's plan. Now she stood in the middle of their camp, ready to begin the first step of their rescue. Leaning down, she took hold of her dagger and pulled it free of its sheath, placing the blade to her arm. Then Eridor flared his wings, the motion catching her eye and causing her to pause.

_Wait! _he said, approaching her. _I can't let you do this, you're too unpredictable. I have no idea how far you'll take it, when only a little should suffice._

_Eridor, this is not the time to second-guess ourselves. Have you suddenly devised a new plan?_

_Nay, but…let me do it. I know I will be more careful, and it should look more genuine. _She shrugged, but replaced the dagger in its place, holding her arms out, closing her eyes. When she felt no pain, she opened them again and looked around. Eridor hovered above her, holding the dead deer from a recent kill.

_What are you doing?_

_I have found a better way, _he said. _Look down and close your eyes again. _Doing as he asked, she then felt warm drops spilling upon her head, sliding down her neck and under her tunic. The sensation made her shiver in revulsion, but she allowed the work to be done. She heard a thud, and saw the carcass upon the ground, the throat slit. Eridor dipped his tail in still more blood and flicked it at her in quick succession. Then he approached, and carefully hooked a claw in the fabric of her clothing and tore, leaving long gashes and tears. Lenora admired his creativity; without being slashed by dagger or claw, this would allow her to fight at her peak and appear as if she still had been attacked.

_How do I look? _she asked.

_Bloody, _he said.

_Aye, that was the point, _she remarked. _Flick some on my quiver; I'll take only that and a few arrows to appear as if I had to escape without my bow and pack._

An hour later, Eridor had taken his spot upon the ridge, using his similarly colored scales to hide within the leaves but watch what happened, ready to protect Lenora should the need arise. They had determined that a certain few guards upon a high ledge stood hidden unless a figure approached, as the group had a few days previously. This Lenora used to her advantage as she had approached the mountain from around the lake, limping as usual, but appearing bedraggled and as if having been attacked. She glanced quickly up at the guard post as she reached the edge of the waterfall, leaning against a small tree that had embedded its roots near the water.

"Aí varden abr du Ellesméra gata vanta!" she yelled, coughing to add to the effect. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the motion of the topmost guards and hunched over, repeating the words weakly. The blood that covered her was easily seen from the distance and she hoped that the guards would investigate. Within a short period of time, she heard the creaking of the stone doors and the waterfall revealed a passage along the edge, created by the opening of the doors. Several guards hurried out, swords or arrows at the ready.

_If they shoot you, they will discover a new meaning to the term "minced meat," _Eridor said.

"What is your name and what business have you here?" one of the guards demanded, ignoring her injuries.

She added a roughness to her voice and looked into his eyes to appear as truthful as possible. "My name is Lenwë. I…have traveled from Ellesméra. I carry a message from Queen Islanzadi to Lady Nasuada." The guards took note of her ears and her unique features. There were few others who looked as such.

"What does this message contain?" he continued.

"It concerns matters of the war and strategies through which my Queen feels should be shared with the Varden in order to strengthen our forces," she replied, coughing and shaking slightly. "Beyond that, I cannot tell you. These are confidential plans that must be reviewed prior to their exposal."

Coming to the conclusion that should she be lying, they were to examine her mind once she entered the fortress, the guard finished his interrogation. The others lowered their weapons for she had none of her own. "What has happened to you?"

"My horse and I were attacked by a cave bear shortly after we passed into the valley," she said, gathering more of the guards as they became intrigued in this lone, injured elf. "It managed to kill him upon the first blow, striking him in the dark of night, but I managed to escape, leaving my bow and pack behind. I've been at the mercy of the forest for days, traveling here on foot with many an injury. My message is urgent and I mustn't give up. Please grant me passage for I require a healer-I've been dizzy from loss of blood."

"Right away, let us help you inside. You must subject to the mind screening before we proceed."

"Aye, I know of this," she said, taking a step forward, her right foot dragging and causing her to trip. Two guards caught her and held her up.

"Come now men, we need a few of you to escort her in. She is in no shape to walk!" the head called. As several others came to hold her upright, she noticed the empty entrance to the mountain. No guards appeared past the small passage beside the falls and now was her chance. As they drew nearer to the water, she murmured a simple spell to close the door nearest to them until the water cascaded down upon the few men before her. Taken by surprise, the others took a step back, taking her with them. She planted her feet and caused them to both lose their balance, then threw an elbow to the chest of one, pivoted and delivered a punch to the other. Five out, five to go. Noticing the rest of the guards had their attention focused upon her, weapons again out and ready to fight, she smirked as she watched Eridor quietly drop down behind them. After the bows of three had been suddenly smashed, the remaining swordsmen turned around and gasped in horror. Lenora took this opportunity to wrap an arm around the neck of one and poke a knuckle on a pressure point below his ear, sending him to his knees, scrabbling at her hands. She added pressure and he lost consciousness. The rest of the guards had succumbed to Eridor's tail, all lying upon the ground, scraped, but not dead.

"Come, we must hurry," she said, motioning for Eridor to approach. He crouched and she climbed on. His muscles bunched and she prepared herself. Then, with a powerful leap, he propelled himself through the water. For an instant, Lenora thought they might not make the other side as the weight of the water pushed the dragon back to the earth, before they crashed into something on the opposite side. What greeted them was not was they expected. Eridor had collided with one of three Urgals whose clear intent was to block the doorway to the mountain. The sight of the dragon shocked them as much as it did to the dragon and rider, and Eridor was able to swipe his tail at one to his side and knock it down. However, these attacks did little to the Urgals, whereas to the guards, it would be crippling. Lenora unsheathed her sword that was strapped to the saddle and prepared to fight.

_Lenora you must go! I can handle the Urgals, _Eridor said, growling at the third brute who swung his own sword before him. The spines upon the dragon's back seemed to bristle and extend in preparation to fight.

_I won't leave you here, you've never fought Urgals before! _

_How much different can they be? _he said, slashing at the one.

_They're a whole different species-they take a lot more force to defeat, but we don't want to kill any. We already don't have a good name within the Varden, _she replied.

_Alright, I can handle them. You must complete what we have done all of this for, otherwise it will all be for naught, _he said, growling and using a wing to hit the Urgal while attacking with his claws. He blocked the entrance to the mountain to make sure she passed through safely. As Lenora started to dismount, the second Urgal had begun to rise and she jumped from the dragon's back to land upon it's chest, throwing it back to the ground before she took off at her fastest limp toward where she knew Orik's life was in danger.

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**A/N: **

**Sorry for the REALLY late update, once again. I've had this chap halfway done for a few weeks, but have been too busy to finish it until now. I'm assuming that by scrying Saphira, Lenora can see Eragon and the group. As well, the political side to this is vague for a reason, so just ignore my naiveté in this aspect. **

**Smileysun: Sorry for the wait-please don't haunt me! ;-) I'm writing as quickly as I can, but college rules my life and updates will come when they come. Thanks for the feedback and the motivation to make me write faster, it really helped.**

**Thanks to Echizen-Ryoma, Winged Vampire Girl, Smileysun, Blogger X, Sandstorm, Lulu and Eragon's Baby Mama for the reviews!**


	30. Metamorphosis

Chapter 29-Metamorphosis

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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The sun beat mercilessly down upon the lone red mound, lost in the sands of the Hadarac. A small twister danced across the landscape, stirring dust from the surfaces of dunes into the dry air and ruffling the membranes of Thorn's wings. Upon his dulled scales perched a vulture, which puffed itself in response to the breeze. Shaking its naked head, it carefully made its way toward a wound which had yet to heal upon the dragon's back, the smell of blood drawing the predator closer. As it lowered its curved beak to tear into the flesh, a sudden whip from Thorn's tail viciously sent the bird into the air, where it screeched and flew into the distant skies.

Pulling free from beneath his wing, Thorn snaked his head around to the wound and licked it again in a continuous effort to heal the wounds. His rider, hidden beneath the wing, had yet to awaken from his wound-induced coma and Thorn could do no more than cover the Shur'tugal and wait. His tongue, though the perfect tool to clean his own wounds, would bite into Murtagh's flesh, leaving the skin red and raw. Thorn had awakened to the sting of one of the wretched birds attempting to make him a meal. The intrusion painful, he had incinerated the creature and, with nothing else to do, eaten it shortly thereafter, leaving parts of it for his rider. The pieces threatened to rot in the heat and the dragon had been forced to finish the meat. Though his hunger pervaded, Thorn had refused to leave his rider to hunt, whom he had covered once he had woken.

Days later, the dragon could do no more for Murtagh. The bleeding had ceased, but his wounds were open and it was only due to the shelter his dragon provided him that these hadn't grown infected. Prodding the rider's mind appeared to have no effect, so Thorn waited. Days passed, and it was not until after the fifth sun had begun to rise above the hazy horizon that something changed.

Murtagh groaned as his eyes opened, reaching up to hold his pounding head. As his mind began to clear, the pain began to set in and he had to remember what had put him in this state. Then, slowly, as the throbbing grew more intense, so did the memories of the fight. He remembered how Eragon's cold but questioning gaze bore into him, shortly before his dwarven sword had slashed through Murtagh's chest. The pain was consuming, but when Murtagh lifted his tunic, not even a scar remained beneath the dried blood. He then became aware that he was shielded from the glaring sun by a thin red membrane.

_Thorn, are you alright? _he asked, placing a hand on the scales as he propped himself up on his elbows. The pane shifted and the dragon lifted his wing, his head curving around to look at his rider.

_Murtagh, you're finally awake! _Thorn exclaimed, the life coming back into his eyes._ I should ask you that question._

_I…have felt better, _Murtagh admitted, holding out one of his bruised and bloody arms. Shaking his head, he tried to sit up, but the action made him dizzy and he never rose. Thorn lay his tail across Murtagh's chest, causing the rider to grimace. While the surface of the wound had been mended by Eragon's magic, the internal damage was still healing.

_You lost a considerable amount of blood. You looked nearly like one of my kills when Eragon slashed you._

_But there is not a wound from such a blow. I don't believe he was trying to kill me, otherwise he would have succeeded. He must have healed the wound._

_That would seem only the case, unless Lenora has learned a little more than we give her credit for. After all, that "hatchling" is a little more than we expected. Perhaps she has accomplished more than we originally imagined._

_Perhaps…_Murtagh said, trying to ignore the pain that wracked his body. He glanced up at his dragon, shielding his eyes from the sun. A long gash ran down his side and his wings sported holes and ragged edges from the fight. Three thin marks, dangerously close to the dragon's left eye, were evidence of Saphira's tail whip.

_What did Saphira do to you? _

Thorn glanced distractedly at his wounds. _I've been taking care of them but I could do naught for your own. _He reached down and flicked Murtagh on the face with his tongue. _My tongue is far too rough for your fish-belly skin._

_Why thank you Thorn, _Murtagh said sarcastically. _How long have I been out?_

_Four long days, _he replied. _I was beginning to really worry about you. I don't know the true extent of your injuries simply by looking at you, but I was convinced that the worst was healed, as you were still alive when I awakened._

_Well, had I died, you wouldn't have woken up anyway, _Murtagh said. _It appears that the plan worked as we hoped._

_At least you've still got your sense of humor, _the dragon commented. _Aye, we were successful, but it is only a matter of time that Galbatorix contacts us again and we can only imagine the many inventive methods with which he will use to wrestle the truth from us. _

_Well, if I really have been unconscious for as long as you say, as my stomach can attest to, at this point, the group should be deep within the Beors on their way to Farthen Dûr. Would you even be able to fly?_

Thorn lifted his wings slowly, revealing the many red-rimmed holes that marked the membranes and a score down the muscle of the right where the appendage joined his body, a wound that would only heal given rest given his rider's magic was out of reach. _It would be…precarious at best. And unless you can tie yourself to the saddle, you wouldn't last much more than a few hours yourself. You cannot even sit!_

_Perhaps this has been for the better. What more can Galbatorix do to us?_

_You know better than most that torture can come in many different methods with which he can use in order to bend us to his will, _the dragon replied.

Murtagh sighed in frustration, leading to a bought of coughing that brought up blood on to the sand. Lying on his back to ease the pain, he placed an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, thinking about his dragon's words. What he said was true; that was the main reason for their pursuit of the group. _Well, neither of us are in any shape to do anything but heal. When was the last time either of us ate?_

_I…roasted one of those birds, _Thorn said with a hint of guilt in his voice. _I tried to save you some but it grew rancid too quickly. You have been asleep for much too long._

_That has given the group more time to escape. At this point, we would be hard-pressed to catch them before they reach Farthen Dûr._

_Aye, the original purpose of our plan has been successful, but at what cost? _Thorn said, before a new voice suddenly entered the conversation.

_So it appears that my "faithful" rider has been constructing plans of his own, _Galbatorix sneered into the minds of both dragon and rider. Murtagh cringed at the voice of the King, knowing they had been caught in the middle of discussing their only means of freedom from his ways. The usual pain from Galbatorix's entrance into his mind only added to the discomfort that he currently felt. It took a great deal of effort to put this out of his mind as he quickly thought of how to deal with the situation. It would be foolish to try to lead him astray; Galbatorix knew that Murtagh was against his efforts with every fiber of his being. Put into this position, Murtagh could think of little to say in response.

_My liege, we…_

_Were just trying to foil my plans again? _Galbatorix finished. _Have you forgotten, dear Murtagh, just who is in charge of these operations? You knew that your so-called surprise attack would be useless from the beginning. It appears that I have been careless in my instructions. You are so closely bound to my daughter that you are willing to risk everything to prevent harming her._

Murtagh closed his eyes in anticipation of what was to follow, imagining the onset of pain on top of the condition he was already in. _Brace yourself, Thorn._

_You see Murtagh, I have come to a realization. You respond to pain in very…creative ways, shall we say. It encourages you to explore new boundaries in your liberation, knowing that it will only be another few barrages of the mind before you are again thrust out into the world on a new mission, _Galbatorix continued in a strangely calm manner. _It so seems that my normal reactions to your immaturity have proved to be woefully ineffective. _Murtagh's mind recoiled even further into himself. This side of the King was even more dangerous than the usual, rash and heartless side that was so normal to this dangerous tyrant. This side was cool, reasoning and infinitely more threatening. This side had only revealed itself to Murtagh on several occasions previously, and had proven to be the true wrath behind the mask of anger. Limitless possibilities at what the King could do to them swirled within his mind as he felt Thorn's own consciousness, which appeared in a similar state. They could almost feel the gratification from Galbatorix's mind as he too witnessed these changes in their emotions.

_I would hope you're both intelligent enough to not mistake this for generosity to not inflict more pain upon the both of you. While you may deserve this action, it would not result in the desired outcome. _The rider remained silent; torture was certainly not a route that he wished to take, but it was preferred to whatever twisted scheme Galbatorix had now created. _Aye, I need you in better shape to travel and continue your mission, but given your history, I cannot simply leave you in your current state, expecting that you will carry out orders as instructed once you heal._

In an attempt to end the questioning terror that now filled he and his dragon, Murtagh confronted the King. _Ebrithil, what will you have us do? The group has incapacitated us both and escaped with the passing of four moons. Thorn cannot fly due to his injuries and I would be little more than a sack of potatoes upon his back; my sword useless. I am too weak to use magic and defend myself should we rest in the Beors, surrounded by the mysterious creatures that live in their depths. _

_Aye, and it interests me how incapacitated you were during the fight, Wyrdan Domia. _The name sent a shiver down the rider's spine and a strange new consciousness wormed its way into his own, curling around his thoughts and emotions to embed itself deep into his psyche. His once brown eyes clouded over in a dark haze and his mind was taken from the desert and replaced by a shadow of another. The individual whose sole mission was to please the King in as many twisted, sinister methods which he could imagine. The son of Morzan reappeared as a fiend, hell-bent on the destruction of his target, the old emotions that connected him to her forgotten. _You see, inside all of us is a different person. That person is suppressed by our inhibitions and controlled by what we believe is right and wrong. Brought forth, this is a new person that is free to act upon every whim that should arise, but under my word, it as focused on his target as a hunter to his prey. There no longer is good and evil, only a mission to be completed in a manner as swiftly as possible. The hindrance of pain is dead, as too are your emotions. Truly, this is who you are inside. _

Thorn didn't need to watch this transformation to know what was to occur next. As the new Murtagh began to rise from the sand in spite of his many injuries, the King how addressed the dragon. _Isn't it interesting how Shur'tugal and Skulblaka are so intimately bound, yet it requires two individual names to control them?_

Never before had Galbatorix spoken the names separately to demonstrate the full effect to the other. As Thorn watched Murtagh's transformation, the difference seemed surreal. No longer was this person the caring, teasing, passionate rider the young dragon had always known. Now he stared into black, lifeless eyes and a stature that communicated nothing but purpose. It was almost frightening to imagine that this was what happened to them both when under the spell of the ancient language. _Aye, Ebrithil, _Thorn said miserably, welcoming the changes to rid himself of the image before him.

_This could do you some good, _the King taunted, knowing the dragon to be uncomfortable. _Just what would the great dragon do in order to ensure his rider's safety from himself? To what lengths would you go to protect Murtagh?_

Thorn closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the evil droning. _Stop, that isn't Murtagh!_

_Oh no? I believe that is your rider, _Galbatorix said with amusement creeping into his words. _Who else might that be, out in the middle of the desert?_

_It's not him, _Thorn persisted. _That is the work of a madman. What stands before me is not a man, but the equivalent of a shade, filled with the makings of evil._

_Poor Thorn, unable to accept what stares him in the face. Don't you realize? That is who Murtagh really is. He is now freed from all of his worries and fears that weighed him down before. _

_Nay, he is a mindless drone, a tool for the Empire, a killing machine, _Thorn said. _Murtagh is not heartless. He reasons, moralizes, feels love toward others. That is not what I see before me._

_Just what do you think you become with the use of your true name? It is the essence of your being, the truth behind what you try to hold back. Your true name reveals the real you, Thorn. What else could it do?_

Thorn rose and roared in frustration, the sound echoing into the sky but creating no response from his rider. The empty shell of Murtagh standing in front of the dragon was battered and bruised but felt nothing. A body which shouldn't have the capacity to rise now waited, emotionless, to be able to climb into the saddle that was still strapped to Thorn's back. _Lies, all of it! One's true name reveals not the evildoings of a tyrant._

_Then what does it show, Thorn? Tell me!_

_Not this. This rendition of Murtagh is not who he really is. The ancient language should not be used for the benefit of your own cruel intentions._

_Just when have my intentions been cruel? Were it not for me, you would never have hatched and been given a life. This Empire is not a tyranny, it is a path to a better Alagaësia. It is my best efforts that are being put forth in this mission-my daughter is a hindrance to the future of the dragon race, _Galbatorix proclaimed. _It's easy to understand that in the eyes of a hatchling you understand little of this. You are so blinded by your dear rider that all of my actions are to be looked down upon, but you know little of what is to come. You are fighting for the greater good, yet you resist my efforts to show you the way._

_This is not the way with which the world is changed for the better, Galbatorix, _Thorn chanced. Though his rider had succumbed to the magic, this gave him the courage to speak his mind in deference of his opinions which were never voiced to the King before. _I understand the greater good far better than you ever will. The murder of one of the only dragons in this world is not the workings of a benevolent King. To expect me to ravage Saphira? That is not how the dragon race should continue, yet these are the methods with which you plan to continue the--_

_Enough! _Galbatorix roared. _Who are you to question my motives?_

_Without me, Murtagh would have "accomplished" far less in your name than he has. While he may be a magnificent fighter, travel would have been much less convenient and he would have never been so renowned after the battle at the Burning Plains, _Thorn continued, pressing his luck. His muscles trembled in anger and his eyes narrowed dangerously._ I have every right to question what you have us do, for it concerns not only us, but the whole of Alagaësia as well. Were it not for your knowledge of our true names, we would never serve the Empire. Death would be more welcome._

Again calm, Galbatorix listened to the dragon's tirade before continuing. _What you say makes sense, dragon. Alas, it is also true that you are at the mercy of my power. This gives me great control to achieve what I want for this land, and I will use every advantage I possess. I tire of this, Hljödhr Rauthr. _Paralyzed with the magic, Thorn's body stiffened. His crimson eyes become shadowed to a red darker than blood as his tail lashed back and forth. The spikes along his back appeared to lengthen, his claws kneading the sand in anticipation. He spread his battered and torn wings and lifted his head to release a throaty roar of rage, appearing a fierce and experienced dragon of war that thirsted for blood. As smoke tickled from his nostrils, his dark eyes met those of Murtagh and a slight smirk caught the corner of the rider's mouth.

"They prey awaits," he said in a rough voice almost as quiet as a whisper, far different from his own.

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**A/N: Between finals and the holidays, this is an incredibly late update and, as usual, I apologize.**

**Can you feel the evilness? I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Murtagh's true name means Fate's Dominance and Thorn's means Silent Misfortune; tell me what you think. **

**Echo: Sorry about the infrequent updates. Really, it's all I can do to update as frequently as I do. As interesting an idea as it is, Lenora does not have any siblings, but thank you for the review!**

**Thanks to WingedVampireGirl, Smiley Sun, Lulu, Echo Windsong, Jwayk016 and Bella for the reviews, and everyone for the adds and faves! Please continue reading and reviewing.**


	31. Charlatan

Chapter 30-Charlatan

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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The Varden was strangely quiet on the day of the coronation. Though it was the dwarves who determined their subsequent King, their apprehension separated the clans and created an atmosphere that the rest of the Varden found difficult to endure. In the presence of the clan leaders, however, the dwarves were forced to behave themselves, even when enlightened with the news. As they and the invited members of the Varden filled the auditorium reserved for the event, silence pervaded. Quietly following the crowds were Eragon and Saphira, the dragon settling herself on the stone directly before the stage where her huge form would not obstruct the audience's view. Eragon took his place near the end in the first row by where her head rested on her feet. Knowing they were much the cause for the disruption, Eragon could feel the eyes of the dwarves on his back like angry daggers. Despite their valiant effort to gain the favor of the _knurlan, _even the Star Sapphire couldn't unite all of the dwarves. They would never forget who had broken their treasure, no matter how effectively it was then repaired.

As the only measure to ensure a smooth shift into a new era, careful policies had to be established and widely advertised. Should an individual step over the boundaries that their leaders had established, they were evicted from the clan and it was unlikely that they would be again accepted into another within the Varden. While there were dwarves that opposed Orik and his methods, they found they were unwilling to risk their home and the security the city offered in exchange for the opportunity to oppose the results of the election. These individuals had eagerly attended the organized meetings for those who wished to express their personal views, held separately from the formalities that surrounded the activities as the residents of Tronjheim prepared not only for a new dwarf King, but the battle that could ensure protection for future generations in Alagaësia.

The clan leaders took their places upon the platform alongside the two candidates before the audience. One of the members of the board had presented their final decision before their company and it was the privilege of Maauk, leader of Dûrgrimst Ebardac, to announce who had won the majority vote and the decision of the board to be given the title of King. One thing had been certain: the results had been nearly too close to choose a winner, but as the board had been certified in case of this very situation, the name had been delivered shortly beforehand. As the guards took their posts at each entrance, signaling that the room was full, the wizened and white-haired Maauk rose surprisingly smoothly from his seat and approached the podium to begin his preliminary speech.

Only one dwarf had found these dutiful measures to be useless as he assumed the position and waited patiently for his target to unknowingly align himself for his assassination.

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Lenora made her way down the long tunnel, lit sporadically with strange blue lamps that offered little visibility. She mused that perhaps this was an intimidation tactic the Varden used when introducing new visitors into their fortress. She passed double doors on her left with heavy metal locks and mechanisms on their wooden surfaces. She assumed this was where the newcomers would be examined and held until either released or permanently imprisoned. This was the only room carved out of the tunnel, with good reason. The walls were solid marble, ancient statues of dwarves in the intermittence between the lights, and the only above-ground passage into the mountain. She ran her hand along one wall as she walked, the pattern of the stones running smoothly beneath her fingers. Still limited in her use of magic, she was unable to extend her mind to the consciousnesses of others to aid the rescue. The sounds from the fighting behind her echoed through the tunnel as she tried to distinguish between these noises and those of potential new combatants, until even they were drowned out by the protection of the stone. Afterwards, her broken footsteps seemed too loud, betraying her mission by giving her away. But the tunnel was empty.

The end seemed impossibly distant, but a light guided her through, growing slowly larger as she approached. It was through this opening that she would then travel to Tronjheim, not knowing the expertise or number of guards she inevitably would face in that distance. As Eragon had been in the fortress for several days, she expected more than a few guards at the entrance to stand in her way. The threat of an assassination of the newly appointed King would be a tragedy in the making, and it was more than likely that the security for the auditorium and the mountain as a whole had been significantly increased. Given her limp and the risk presented to her dragon matched against three urgals, she sorely wished for Eridor to be beside her as her eyes began to squint against the onslaught of light. If the mountain reached as far into the clouds as she suspected, the light must have been a combination of sun and flame. Perhaps magic took a part in the activities here, though she guessed that not many elves must visit given the suspicion the guards had shown. Though her leg had begun to throb, she thanked the length she had to travel, knowing that their opposition would be hard-pressed to catch her once they awakened. Though it made the connection to her dragon fade as she disappeared into the mountain, something she had hoped would prevail through the fortress walls, this gave her an advantage.

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Eridor was growing tired. Disconnected from his rider, worry had distracted him and despite the fighting expertise that Saphira had instilled in him, his emerald green scales now were spattered with blood. In an effort to not anger the Varden more than necessary, he had prepared to be careful to avoid attacking with such force that it would endanger the lives of the creatures, but found that this was a task that was unnecessary. The urgals were proving to be more worthy opponents than any other he had fought aside for Saphira herself. Knowing nothing of combat with this species, he learned through observation. They relied heavily on their weaponry-namely maces, axes and broadswords. Their rough hands were perfect for wielding heavy weaponry similar to the dwarves, though were not as dexterous for using a bow and arrow. For this, the young dragon was grateful, but the thick limbs and hide of each creatures allowed them to wear heavy metal armor yet still be fairly protected where it wasn't covered.

Using his own set of weapons, Eridor could merely defend himself against the vicious attacks. He had positioned himself against the stone doors, to give himself a buffer and to deter their return into the tunnel to pursue his rider. His bulk providing an effective barrier, he began determining a better method to fight his opponents. He noticed that-though more animalistic than human-the urgals fought more like men due to their similar structural makeup, and Eridor doubted their victories would last without their weaponry. After receiving more than his fair share of the blows, he decided to initiate the attacks. A dragon could only remain the victim so long before comparable retaliation was inevitable. As one of the creatures raised his axe to deliver a blow to his leg, he whipped his tail toward the weapon, splintering the wood and rendering the tool useless as the metal dropped and embedded itself into the mud, further splattering the fighters. The creature grunted in surprise and reached for the broadsword strapped across his back. As another urgal approached swinging a flail, Eridor used the spikes on his tail to entangle the chain and swing the weight to collide with the urgal's helmet with such force, the armor shuddered and rendered the creature unconscious. If the dragon could smirk, he would have-taken out by one's own weapon.

Another two urgals remained, and Eridor narrowed his eyes, raising his newfound weapon threateningly. Not only were his tail-spikes deadly, but this added metal and the momentum generated could stun any opponent. It soon became clear that its removal from his appendage became priority to the urgals, who wished to not only remain conscious, but alive. Proud as each of the fighters were, giving up wasn't an option. The first urgal had released his sword and positioned himself to remove the length of the dragon's tail that held the flail. Leaving his tail lying on the ground as a target for this urgal, he extended his wing into the waterfall. As the urgal lifted his sword to make the cut, a torrent of water cascaded on his helmet, deafening and stunning him momentarily, distracting him and allowing Eridor the chance to grasp the sword in his claws and knock it into the water. Naked of weapons, he was at the mercy of the dragon. Changing targets while one was assumed safe, the dragon turned to the second urgal to disarm him, but a sharp pain caught him in the side, causing him to roar and topple onto the creature. Using its natural attack, the weaponless urgal had lowered its head and rammed the dragon with its horns and solid helmet, slicing the dragon's hide. Reflexively, he grabbed the urgal in his teeth and swung his head, tossing it into the side of the mountain. It landed, as unconscious as the first. Despite the pain from several broken ribs, the dragon realized he now had the advantage over the final urgal, and used his teeth to quickly drag it into the water before it could stumble to its feet. Eridor gnashed his teeth in pain, a motion that the urgal interpreted as attack. Now clearly disadvantaged in the water, the creature swam in the opposite direction, believing his opponent to be as swift and deadly as a sea-serpent. No one followed as the dragon retreated into the tunnel.

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The emerald rider knew better than most that to underestimate one's adversary could result in dire consequences. Though having proven herself an able fighter with her disability, she was not naïve enough to believe she was still as infamous as she could have been considered not but a few months prior. Now, crippled, she was more cautious and inclined to put more thought into her subsequent actions instead of diving headlong into a fight she was once sure she would win. Her current circumstances left her without a dragon, no armor for protection, and her fate-as well as Orik's-resting on the blade of her sword. Given these stakes, she wasn't about to walk into a waiting ambush and ruin their chances for a successful mission. As she came to the last few feet of tunnel, she lightened her footsteps and stopped against the wall where the shadow from the top of the tunnel concealed her. The jeweled and ornate entrance to Tronjheim was less than two-hundred feet from the tunnel-visible through the lavish path between massive pillars encrusted with precious stones-but it was only the fool who would believe this path to be a safe one.

She quieted her haggard breathing and listened. Surely any number of guards couldn't be completely silent, clad in chain-mail armor and metal weaponry. She heard nothing. Either these guards wore little protection or were as steadfast as the mountain itself. Not knowing whether or not the security that had spotted her first had made it back to alert Nasuada, she didn't know whether to expect the men to be waiting for her, flanking the edges of the end of the tunnel. As her last resort, she edged along the wall into the dim light until she could make out four silhouettes and a single guard not ten feet from her. Stationed evenly along the wall stretching to the right of the tunnel, she assumed an equal number of guards were positioned on the opposite side, estimating an army of ten. Lenora cursed under her breath; clearly, the Varden didn't take their security lightly, but the men were so still that should one not be looking for them-instead focusing upon the brilliant nature of the marbled walk-they would have been disguised in the darkness and never noticed.

Even under normal circumstances where she would be under no obligation to protect the lives of her adversaries, the guards still posed a significant threat, as well as an inconvenience. She had never before been under a moral responsibility to decide what fate her adversaries would meet during the fight-it used to be simple: should they decide to fight, she would do whatever was in her power to take their lives, a task that used to be nearly effortless. Now she was forced to rely on strategy and creativity instead of raw power and speed. Though these circumstances placed the advantage of the fight in the guards, Lenora was confident that with the tactic she had formed in a few seconds' time, she would soon again be traveling closer toward the coronation and Eridor would have safe-and quick-passage once he finished with the urgals. It had often been when under pressure that she was able to form the most efficient plans, and this was no exception. Relying on the expectation that these men were true to one another, it was still precarious.

The lack of sufficient light would only aid her for an instant, a fraction of time likely to be just enough she would need to apprehend the guard she could see the most clearly. His solid stance had him facing the city, away from where she hid, his sword on his left hip. The man stood slightly shorter than average at approximately five foot, nine inches and was clad in thick leather hide, explaining the guards' silence. From her experienced eye, she could also see the straps where he-like herself-carried a five-inch dagger along his right calf, a small blade to be used in case he was disarmed of his sword. From the uniformity of the assembly of guards, she assumed this was the apparel of the others. Given these details, she knew her plan would only work on this soldier. Receding into the shadows and slowly sheathing her sword at her side, she instead drew her own knife. She crossed to the opposite side of the tunnel and approached the edge. Knowing she had one chance, she then moved as quickly as she could to cover the remaining few feet to the man.

The mirroring guard had noticed the movement in his peripheral vision, yelling a warning to her victim and beginning to approach. Her guard had his sword halfway free from its scabbard and had turned slightly toward her when the cold steel of her dagger pressed against his neck and her left hand grabbed the top of his sword pommel. He froze and the opposing guard stopped as the others ran from their posts along the walls.

"Stop, all of you," she ordered, "or he dies." Those approaching heeded her words, if only for a moment. Though the pillars obscured her vision of several guards, without taking immense care, their boots through the walkway would give away their position. She knew how ironic the situation must have appeared, with her slight frame nearly on her toes to keep her arm securely around his neck and the knife at his throat. In his ear, she said softly, "You too. Put it back in the sheath and untie it." His neck muscles flexed as he spoke.

"You're the new rider," he stated, his voice forcibly calm. The rest of the men tensed. His eyes stared dead ahead, the tips of hair on the back of his head tickling her face, but he sounded confident in his words. No woman other than herself would attempt to hold up the Varden's guard. "We were warned you might come."

"Do as I say," she hissed, realizing that should Nasuada's guards be informed of her existence, then Eragon would most likely have mentioned her lack of magical abilities. Perhaps her practice would prove beneficial; even Eragon hadn't known about her recent grasp of the simpler spells. The pressure beneath her hand relented and he sheathed the sword and slowly untied the belt, letting it clatter to the stone. She then brought his left hand around his back and hooked her arm through his elbow. Using this to further apprehend him, and brace herself, she balanced on her left foot and used the toe of her boot to catch the lip of his knife pommel and pull it free from the casing, shoving it near the fallen sword. The hard part of the plan was complete. Lenora's time in the castle of Urû'baen had ensured her ample time to study the imperial guards. During the time that she was not in the dungeons, these men had been forced to treat her as royalty, without knowing, of course, that she actually was. She had entertained herself by determining what made these guards tick, and how to disrupt their orderly ways through mind games. Without these strategies, she would never have spent many memorable days with Murtagh after escaping her nearly constant watch.

While there were always men who believed in self-preservation above anything else, Lenora had observed the strong connections between the select guards within the Empire, a tactic that could save them their lives should they be faced with an opponent they could not defeat on their own. These relations she had also seen between soldiers who had trained in the fields alongside her in those individuals that were so loyal to their friends that they would sacrifice their own lives in exchange for those of their comrades. It was these bonds that she assumed existed in these men, so stoic and true to their position that they had likely trained and been promoted together. Suppressing a grin, she addressed the men who surrounded her.

"Since it seems my reputation precedes me, I expect you've all been told you are up against someone who is ruthless and without moral limitations," she said loudly, her tone leaving room for doubt. She leaned close to the guard and whispered smoothly in his ear. "You were right." He stiffened, a slight motion not lost on the surrounding men. Her shield again spoke, as if trying to placate her growing agitation, as well as his own.

"You have yet to prove yourself to us, Shur'tugal. We know your limp and how you cannot even practice magic. What do you plan to do with the rest of them once you're finished with me?" He was right, a truth she was hoping they wouldn't have been told. These men were not about to be intimated by a female who had yet to confirm herself to be anything more than quick, much less a true Shur'tugal. If they imagined the new rider to be as dangerous and unpredictable as those of old, they would be prepared in every way possible, however, it seemed Eragon had freely given away her secrets. Though she had one guard at her mercy, there were still nine others which put her at a disadvantage. As his words were heard by the rest of the men, they began to advance again, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Lenora responded by applying pressure to the blade so that a trickle of blood ran down the man's neck. His breathed quickly through his nostrils in a panic and pressed back into her, trying to escape the knife, but she planted her foot and he stopped. She heard the scuff of a boot to her left and her eyes shifted to the guard who had initially alerted her captive. A sword swung behind them to catch her across the legs, where she would be immobilized but the guard would not be harmed. Resisting the urge to take a step back, losing her grip on the guard, she took a nearly greater risk.

"Slytha," she whispered, the palm of her hand glowing brilliant white around the dagger's pommel. The attacker dropped to the stone like a rock himself, the sword clanging beside him, appearing dead in an instant. The attack was precisely what she had been waiting for, the draining use of magic just the intimidation she needed, but not a strategy she could not use on the rest of them. This changed her plans, but to her relief, the surrounding men began to back up.

"She can perform magic!" a disembodied voice exclaimed.

"He's dead," her captive murmured in a voice suddenly thick with emotion. She suspected the man was his close friend.

"Aye," she lied, her confidence renewed. "And just imagine what my dragon can do. But I assure you, should I remain intact on my way into the city, he will ignore all of you."

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Eridor made his way down the tunnel, hindered by his injuries and the unnatural method of travel for a dragon. His eyes allowed him to see where no light was provided, but the lack of sound within the narrow opening was unnerving. His mind had been blocked from his rider and he had no way of knowing whether she was safe. He knew her to be level-headed in most situations, but her temper was fiery and she often overestimated her own abilities, forgetting her disability. He hadn't felt any pain through their link, but expected that that too was severed when their link had dissipated, something he thanked for to shield her from the blow he had received. He knew her to have traveled this tunnel, and with each passing minute, their connected became stronger. He could almost reach into her thoughts when faded light ahead marked the end of the tunnel. He felt for her mind and listened to her urgent words.

_I have dealt with the guards in the region between where you are and the city. They provided little trouble, but I guaranteed their safety-please leave them be unless they attack you…_she paused. _My side aches, were you hurt?_

_Aye, but we haven't the time to focus upon it, _he replied, keeping the pain from reaching his voice._ I will track your scent-don't do anything without me there._

_I will do what I can, but should the bow be drawn taught, I fear I cannot wait._

Eridor growled in annoyance and increased his pace, claws scuffing the thin layer of dirt that marred the surface of the stone, knowing she grew closer to the assassin with each passing minute. Though her actions were inevitable, he could not curb her stubborn nature. The light ahead seemed like freedom from the cramped tunnel where the young dragon could barely unfurl the wings from his sides. He flared his nostrils, drawing in the strange new scent of fear that seeped into the tunnel from what he could only assume were the guards. He extended his head into the room where a man lay spread-eagled on the stone, devoid of his weapons, but his steady breathing was evident in the dragon's eyes. He cast his amber eyes to the distant walls cloaked in shadows, noticing the stiff figures of the men who Lenora had bypassed with the evasion of an outright clash. The pile of swords, daggers and numerous weapons that could be hidden in one's clothing in the center of the pathway was a testament to their meeting and obvious defeat. As he entered the room and scrutinized the nervous men, he realized there were an uneven number and hoped that Lenora had kept her anger under control. He stretched his cramped wings but although the far end of the mountain seemed leagues away, the dragon was forced to approach the entrance to Tronjheim through the pillars, where the light cast more brilliantly, stepping lightly around the weapons. Never having seen anything manmade, the dragon was momentarily awed by the structures that made little sense to him.

Eridor crossed the elaborate threshold and a man moaned from the floor-Lenora's shield from possible attacks, now discarded and unconscious. Her scent was strong on his clothes, and he used this renewed smell to trace where she had then disappeared. His eyes cast upward and the true grandeur of the city was revealed to him. Marble covered nearly every surface, rubies and gems placed in patterns and pictures that depicted historic events of the dwarves. Thought it took a moment for the pictures to register in his mind-unfamiliar to him-he saw a rendition of a dragon like himself set in emeralds, spewing flames made of red and orange stones onto small men that covered their heads with shields. Another of the dwarves constructing the fortress he had now entered from underground tunnels and decorating this structure from a mountain of gems from the earth that they had excavated. Perhaps the most intriguing was the cracked red rose sapphire that again rested above the city and easily seen from every spot on the ground. Eridor pulled his attention from the majestic stone and followed a tall hallway where still more pillars and statues placed in hollows in the walls expressed the size of the city. Within a short time, Lenora's voice sounded in his head again.

_Stop where the statue with a ruby helm resides. The coronation is being held in an auditorium past that, where more men stand guard at the two entrances to this room, _she explained quickly._ You cannot be seen-they will alert the entirety of the procession and the assassin will escape, having finished the deed amid the commotion._

The dragon accelerated his awkward walk, his attention on the wall of countless statues. Then, before the long expanse of empty hollows, a statue bearing a sparkling red crown appeared. Through Eragon's lessons with Lenora that she had related to him, he suspected this was the last King, Hrothgar. The hallway had a gentle curve and he pressed his body against the wall, cringing as it pressed into his wounded side. He snaked his head high around the wall, keeping his snout lowered as he peered with one eye into the room. His rider was hiding against the wall beneath him and finding it difficult to look for the target without getting caught by the guards. Two dwarven guards stood below, oblivious to the intruders-sometimes having a long neck was an advantage.

_Eridor, you're going to have to locate the archer, _she said, having noticed him. He scanned the rows of people but could see no assassin crouched in the shadows. Thirteen clan leaders sat upon the platform at the front of the auditorium, opposite the two candidates, still more guards near the stairs at each end of the stage. The rising stands where the audience sat were solid stone, leaving no room for a potential assassin to hide. He heard a soft mumbling below.

_What was that? _he asked Lenora, his concentration upon sight, not sound.

_One of the two guards is going on break, _she replied, still trying to get a glimpse around the corner. _Keep searching. _Instinctively, the dragon glanced down to see one of the two indistinguishable guards open a door he couldn't see before in the bottom of the stands and disappear from sight. He again turned his focus to the crowds and continued to search, growing more frustrated by the minute. Another sound caught his attention-a smaller opening only four feet tall appeared on the side of the stands at the same level as his head. Before he was able to pull back to avoid detection, he stopped himself. The same guard, only identifiable by his attire, appeared masked and with a bow in hand. Because of the abundance of these uniformed guards, it was only until the dwarf had knocked an arrow and taken aim at Orik, who began approaching the podium that the connections clicked in the dragon's head.

_It's that guard, _he exclaimed. _He's the assassin! _Weighing the consequences for only an instant in his mind, Eridor paused. The assassin drew back on the bow and prepared to fire. Before Lenora could reveal herself, he launched himself into the room and with a roar to warn Orik of the danger, knocked the guard aside. Though his action had been quick, the twang of the bow had been undeniable. The dwarf yelled in surprise, but had no time to react before losing his balance and falling, landing headfirst on the stone below with a crack. Eridor's eyes cast upon the stage, noting with relief the arrow's trajectory had been skewed and it protruded from the podium instead of the dwarf's chest. His relief lasted only a moment.

The appearance of a young dragon-the very dragon the guards had been warned about-who had just killed one of the Varden's trusted men immediately turned the rest of the guards against the attacker. As Eridor saw Saphira rise from her position, Eragon running from the opposite side of the stands, and Lenora at his side, more arrows were loosed, aiming for him. In a desperate attempt to save her dragon's life from the sentinels she had just witnesses to be cold-blooded assassins, she shouted the spell,

"Letta orya thorna!" The effect was immediate: the arrows clattered to the ground, and Lenora fell at his feet in a spasm of agony, plunging into darkness.

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**A/N: Thanks to Hpjedi1, .Angel and Dreamgirl for the reviews for the last chapter and everyone for the adds and faves. As long as you've read this far, please leave a review!**

**.Angel pointed out that Eridor's rapid growth seemed somewhat unrealistic in comparison to Thorn's. While I think that Galbatorix somehow enhanced Thorn's growth, Eridor was able to grow that much faster because dragon magic is more mysterious and they can't really control what they do with it. In Galbatorix's case, because he's not as connected to Shruikan as normal riders (in my story), he used his own magic instead, which, though powerful, still has its limits. At least through Eldest, the limits of dragon magic aren't defined.**


	32. Vindicated

-1Chapter 31-Vindicated

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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"What did that rat do to my guards?" Jörmundur thundered as he entered Nasuada's office. Though Saphira had pressed herself against one wall where she could easily place herself between Eridor and the rest of the company, not trusting the shackles, the presence of both dragons in the room created a cramped space. Eragon too stood rigidly beside the unconscious dragon and rider, ready at a moment's notice should they awaken. Nasuada paced through what was left of the empty floor, one hand to her head as if deep in thought. Orik sat in one of the seats that had been moved against the wall to allow for more room, his legs dangling several inches from the floor, a steady stare boring into the opposite wall and his brow furrowed. Jörmundur's appearance caused the rest of them to jump in surprise before settling just as quickly when they realized it was not their captive who had made the sound.

"What's wrong Jörmundur?" Nasuada asked, her voice stressed and tired as she paused in her tracks and took in his words, her hands on her hips and her face communicating business. Having noticed the blood that covered the emerald rider, it was her first inclination to check upon her guards. The ability to enter the fortress without so much as a warning to the leader was unheard of, and she was sure the young rider had left a trail of bodies in her wake. Eragon's quick action to place the gangling dragon in the same state as his rider had been helpful to prevent any further chaos from ensuing, but it left Nasuada with no one to question. With little other choice, she had quickly requested Jörmundur to assemble a group of his most trusted men and search the passageways into the city. Angela had taken it upon herself to calm the crowds who threatened to flood the tunnels and destroy any evidence they might find. Though a violation to her authority, Nasuada had silently thanked the witch and her quick and decisive actions, upon which no one else would have dared to act. It was she who had later brought the potion with which to drug Lenora (cleverly using the excuse that nearly every member of the Varden was now under scrutiny to bring the vial herself), gazing upon the dragon and rider with rapt curiosity before Nasuada had shooed her out with a reminder of her other duties. Angela had muttered unintelligibly under her breath before leaving.

Jörmundur nearly growled in anger. "Half of them are unconscious, and those still standing are shaking in their boots!"

The answer surprised her. "Are any dead?" The question made him pause and gave him reason to think clearly, his rage dissipating.

"Nay…" he admitted after a moment, deflated. The effect of the Varden's leader upon the burly man was not lost on Eragon, something that might have brought a smile to his face were they not in a dire situation as it was. The rider had always believed that Nasuada's position would dissuade suitors, and until now, this theory had appeared true. In the moment it had taken to answer, Jörmundur's expression had softened and now he gazed upon Nasuada's face with concern. As if about to offer his assistance, he took a step toward her, his composure completely changed. She ignored the gesture, her look doubtful.

"No injuries, large losses of blood…?" she inquired further.

"Nay," he replied again. "Nasuada, what is it?" The absence of a proper address and the way he regarded her were still more subtle signs recognized by the others in the room. When he had been assigned to his task, Lenora had been quickly hoisted over Eragon's shoulder and taken from the auditorium, her actions noticed, but herself unseen by most. Eragon's magic in combination with Saphira's strength had been the force that had successfully moved Eridor from the room as well.

"Please request Du Vrangr Gata to search those guards as well," she said. The group of magicians was immediately employed after the incident to search the minds of every guard in the city, a task that would take hours, if not days, to complete. Though Eragon's qualms had most unfortunately proven to be correct, Nasuada-like many others-wasn't content with the situation as solved. "Have several of them report what occurred in their standpoints. I want to know all sides to the story."

A look of disappointment flashed across Jörmundur's face before he composed himself. "Aye," he acknowledged, straightening and leaving the room in an air of hidden frustration. The door clanged shut behind him, hiding the room from the newly appointed and proven-trustworthy guards that had been posted to protect them. The noise was followed by the clatter of chains as Lenora was suddenly woken. In an instant, everyone in the room gathered around her, Eragon crouching in the middle to place himself between the potential of danger. Saphira growled softly, her resolve that the fugitives were faithful to their cause wavering since the event.

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Lenora stared at the floor, her chin on her chest as if still asleep. Her limbs felt heavy and sluggish, her thoughts incoherent. A dull ache ran through her whole body, but was most noticeable in her right leg. She felt as if she had a horrible hangover, but still was under the effects of alcohol. A nearby growl caused the rider to raise her head.

"Eridor?" she said thickly, her tongue barely cooperating. Her eyes were dilated and unfocused as she gazed around her. The blurred images began to take shape as she stared at the room. Instead of finding her dragon looking back at her, she noticed the figures of three people, one shorter than the rest, and the blue head of Saphira looming over her. The person crouched before her snapped his fingers in her face, and her eyes focused on him.

"Lenora," he said, and she recognized the voice. "Who did you kill?"

"Eragon?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion, the words not making sense at first. "Why are you here? Where am I?" She wondered if she was having another dream, but couldn't think clearly enough to make sense of the situation.

"Lenora, you're in Tronjheim," he said steadily, though she could now see his face was taught with stress and something else she couldn't identify. "Who did you kill?"

She understood the words, but not why he was asking them. "No one," she said automatically. "Where's Eridor?"

He ignored the question, and turned to the dark woman behind him. Their murmured conversation was unintelligible to her as she watched, offhandedly interested in this intriguing new person. The blue rider turned to her again. "Then why are you covered in someone else's blood?"

Again sidetracked, she tried to raise her hands to her face to observe what he pointed out, but found she couldn't. The clatter of chains again intruded loudly in her head, but the sight before her took her by surprise. Her clothes were tattered and stained with red-brown blood. Though something tried to connect in the back of her mind, vague memories swirling where she couldn't reach them, the binding had distracted her. The anger that would normally fill her for the injustice of the situation was nothing more than a notion, but she was suddenly determined to free herself. Forgetting her audience, she reached back into her mind for the words and strained against the chains. The ancient language was as elusive as her memories and she found herself desperately trying to recall what was on the fringes of her memory. She was starting to realize that with the entrapment, they might have drugged her. A loud snuffling near her caused her to jump and look up from her preoccupations. Saphira's gigantic head had grown closer as she sniffed the rider.

_What she says in true, _the dragon projected into the minds of the others. _The blood is that of a deer, not a man._

"Hey," someone said, and she turned her unresponsive head toward the sound. Eragon again. Her limited range of emotions became apparent when annoyance began to gnaw on her thoughts. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Whaddya mean?" she slurred, having dropped her hands to the floor behind her. She glanced at her feet and noticed they too were bound.

Eragon sighed in frustration, but knew that in the state she was in, she was almost incapable of lying. "When we parted in the Hadarac, after we met Murtagh, where did you go?"

Now the memories started to slowly return with the mention of Murtagh's name as the motors began turning. She remembered the fight, but not the actual actions that had taken place beyond the bloody sight of her old friend and his dragon on the red sands. For a moment, she panicked, before the memories began flooding back. Their argument and her banishment after he agreed to heal Murtagh's wound. Tronjheim-Eragon had mentioned Tronjheim! Following the group, gaining access to the mountain and rescuing the dwarf. Though the memories were clouded in a fog, her eyes shown with recognition. She had regained the memories, but the specifics still escaped her. Now she identified the smaller figure as the dwarf that she had come to rescue, thankful that it had worked, though his name still forgotten.

"I followed you here," she said cautiously, doubting her own words. She tried to distinguish the amount of time that had passed since the fight with Murtagh. Eragon's expression changed in an instant.

"_Barzul_, but I should have been more aware!" _It was Eridor that you sensed that day, not the Fanghur_, he exclaimed to Saphira, whose eyes narrowed and nodded in agreement. As her gaze cast down beside Lenora, the rider could now make out the shape of her dragon against the wall, cast in shadows where the lamplight failed to reach. She could see, however, the glint of blue off the steel of the chains that held him to the floor as effectively as she was. Though the drugs still ran strong in her system, the sight of her dragon so vulnerable caused a slight anger to break through the haze.

"Aye, Eragon, that may be true," a new, rough voice intruded. Lenora didn't care to notice who it was. "But without her and the dragon's interference, I would be on my way to be eternally encased in stone, unable to enjoy even a minute as King. I owe both of them my life." This surprised the rider, and she now raised her eyes to look into those of the dwarf. He approached her now, Eragon apparently satisfied with Lenora's inebriated state that she would be unable to cast magic to harm his friend. "Greetings rider. I am Orik, newly appointed King of the dwarves. My sincerest gratitude for coming to my rescue."

"Glad it worked," she mumbled, the details of the rescue elusive, but the results standing before her. A clattering caught her attention and Saphira shifted closer to Eridor, who had awakened. His head was chained near the floor, and he lifted it until he was met with resistance and stared at his rider in the eyes with a longing. She tried to contact him, but as with the ancient language, she met only a void. Emptiness settled in the pit of her stomach, having never been detached from her dragon before. She couldn't even reach out to touch him.

"You will not be able to speak with him until the drugs have worn off," the smooth voice of the dark leader informed her, watching her efforts. Satisfied with this explanation, her previous assumption confirmed, Lenora faced the woman. "I am Nasuada, leader of the Varden." When Lenora didn't respond, she continued. "We were told you weren't able to perform magic to any great effect, yet nearly all the Varden witnessed that you could."

"Magic?" The question confused her again. Didn't she just try to break free from her bindings using magic and couldn't? "What did I do?"

"You stopped the arrows from hitting your dragon," she reminded her. Something connected in Lenora's mind after this registered.

"I was practicing. With rocks," she said, suddenly proud. The faces of her audience remained questioning, with the exception of her fellow rider and his dragon. Then her face turned into a grimace. _Magic. _"That's why everything hurts."

"Is that how you evaded the guards at the entrance?" Nasuada persisted. Though she knew this rider to be the daughter of her enemy, Nasuada had found Eragon's tales of her to be both disconcerting as well as fascinating. Despite the circumstances in which she now met Lenora, a plan was beginning to form in her mind.

After taking a moment to remember, Lenora's lips twitched in a smirk, her emotions short-lived because of the drugs. "Those pathetic men?" she asked with a spark of her regular self. "They are in need of some courage." Though Nasuada disregarded this uncouth comment due to Lenora's state, Eragon knew it was something the rider would have said regardless. He was grateful that the Varden's leader was so patient and understanding; were Lenora and Eridor to be spending any amount of time within the mountain, they would, no doubt, be dealing with Nasuada and her advisors. He had no reservations concerning Orik, who had quickly proven himself as open and charismatic with Lenora as with Eragon himself. Now, instead of having been offended, Nasuada took another approach and decided to humor her captive.

"Aye, I'm beginning to wonder if there is a limit to your prowess," she said. "Eluding capture by twenty of my best guards...that requires a certain amount of skill in and of itself."

The rider glanced fondly at her dragon. "Without him, I would never have been able to get as far as I did."

"Of course," Nasuada agreed good-naturedly. "The intimidation of a dragon would work wonders on nearly anyone."

"Intimidating…" Lenora said, thinking. Something appeared to come back to her. "He's not much more than a big hatchling yet." A quiet growl came from beside her and she allowed herself a small smile.

Nasuada's countenance adopted one of surprise. "Then it must have been the magic," she remarked. "That display is as mysterious as it is powerful. I'm sure you must have done something spectacular in order to scare them into submission." Saphira watched the conversation closely. Nasuada's strategy was clear to her before the others.

_Clever, _she said absently.

Eragon flinched at the unexpected word inside his head. _What is?_

_Wait and see._

_Dragons…_Saphira flicked her tail but watched Lenora for a response.

"Spectacular?" the rider considered the word for a moment. "Nay, I don't remember doing much with magic…"

"But you know so much about the ancient language!" Nasuada insisted. "Surely you were taught all there is to know about magic under your father."

The rider's eyes narrowed. That was a subject that she would never forget. "My father never taught me magic," she said with dead certainty.

"Not even when you returned to Urû'baen after you parted with Eragon?" she pressed. Now Eragon understood, and Orik stifled a murmur of admiration. If Nasuada was ever going to be able to deceive the rider, it was now. If she had returned to the Empire in her absence from the group, it was possible to confuse her enough so as unintentionally admit to the truth. Lenora's confused eyes caught those of her subtle interrogator.

"Go back? I never went back," she said, staring desperately around at her audience. "I followed them, in the mountains." Now Eragon stepped forward again.

"You're sure?" His blue eyes bore deep into hers, searching for any incongruities in her words. Though he could instruct her in reciting the words in the ancient language, ensuring her words to be true, he wished to believe what she said.

She controlled the hysteria that so clearly wished to vent her frustrations on him, Eridor rumbled his assurance. "I am _not _my father."

_I seem to remember something very similar uttered by my rider not that long ago…_ Saphira commented.

The dwarf who had been watching calmly placed his hand lightly on Eragon's arm. "Eragon, why would she go through such lengths to save me if she were not trustworthy?"

Eragon's next words were less confident. "She's betrayed my trust before." Lenora's memories were too fragmented to recall what he meant.

"Who have you ever met that is pure? We all do what we must in order to survive." Orik replied, his words compassionate but understanding. "Lenora has chosen to escape the Empire to come here. Does that say nothing about where her loyalties lie?" Eragon finally consented, and Lenora's trepidation fled from her face.

"Aye," she said enthusiastically. "I have decided to fight for the Varden."

Nasuada nodded, and turned to Eragon and Orik, lowering her voice. "Provided she can be trusted, she could be a vital asset to the Varden. Now, more than ever, we need all the strength we can get. As Murtagh is with the Empire," she said, the name of the rider causing a flash of emotion to cross her face, "another rider will aid us in at least standing our ground. We have been slowly building up our numbers and experimenting with new methods, including addressing the unique ways of the urgals, but these are not enough." She looked at Eragon. "You mentioned her superior fighting techniques?"

"Aye, unlike any I have seen. She utilizes everything she has, and is a worthy opponent in spite of the limp." Eragon's face was serious. "However, I do remember mentioning her lack of morality."

"You did," she concurred. "While I do not doubt your assertions, she was able to enter Tronjheim without killing a single guard. That is an uncommon ability, and one we may be able to examine further. While the guards are being examined, we can address their compromise as a result of her entrance.

"However, despite the circumstances, allowing them to reside here without consequence for their actions would not bode well for our government." Her words surprised Eragon. He had never known Nasuada to be punishing. Then he understood the meaning of her inquiries. "As for Eridor…"

_I have a suggestion, _Saphira said. They turned their attention to her great blue form. _Eragon and I will need more than our own strength to mend Isidar Mithrim. Combine the strength of two dragons and riders, and the Star Sapphire may be fixed and the dwarves will again be united. _Orik grinned.

"A fine idea," Nasuada replied, "but the rider has much to contribute." They looked down at Lenora.

"What do you know about warfare?"

"I know how to fight."

"Perfect."

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**A/N: I know, I know, this update is WAY past due. College and writer's block are to blame, and this chapter is not of great quality as a result, but I just had to post something. Thanks to Dawn, Fresh Blood, Lukerocks, Sabrina and Platypus Caper for the reviews, and all the rest for reading. As long as you've read this far, please leave a review-any constructive criticism is appreciated.**

**~Emerald Dragon Rider**


	33. Purpose

Chapter 32-Purpose

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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Clouds blew gently across the skies. As the dense heat of the Hadarac faded with the sands, the mixture of vastly different temperatures created erratic weather patterns that made up for the regularity of the desert sun. No longer able to use the warm thermals from the desert air to glide long distances, Thorn began to beat his tattered wings to keep them aloft. Torn pieces of the membranes, lined in dried blood from the webbing of veins that circulated the wings, trailed the movements of every flap. For weeks there had been the uniform sands and brilliant blue, cloudless skies that began and ended their days, so the cool breeze and disappearance of sweltering heat was welcomed by the rider. However, the gravity of their mission now weighed heavily upon him. There was now no possible escape, a fact both dragon and rider was forced to accept. No loophole to jump through that would bestow upon them the time to construct a new plan. They were trapped, separated in mind but together physically, rapidly approaching an event that would change the fate of Alagaësia forever.

After almost two years connected in mind and soul with his dragon, Murtagh's connection with Thorn was severed with the two dark words that made up his true name. The power that contained he and his dragon was so considerable that it was only used when absolutely necessary, even by the King himself. It was magic that could render a willful mind into submission in an instant, and control the movements of the victim from a distance of countless leagues. Feeling oddly reminiscent of a stringed puppet, like the ones he had witnessed among the homeless street-dwellers hoping to catch the eye of a child with a loose purse, Murtagh's body moved without the instruction of his mind. His limbs functioned as smoothly as if he were in perfect health, but the movement caused him great pain as his wounds were disturbed. Nevertheless, even his voice was no longer his to control and he could no more grimace than implement the use of magic. Cruelly, his mind remained within his control and to impede the onset of madness from the emptiness that settled within him while separated from Thorn, Murtagh focused his thoughts elsewhere.

Gazing ahead through the eyes of the body that now held him captive, Murtagh's mind registered the threat that silently began to surround them. Like the dark magic that caroused through the pair, the sky began to darken and envelop them in an inescapable peril. Dragons knew from the egg never to fly in a storm, instincts ingrained deep into their subconscious that had allowed them to survive for centuries. Not only was the chance of being struck by lightening much greater from a higher altitude, the buffeting winds could throw the rider out of the saddle or rip the dragon from the air entirely. Regaining control or rescuing a falling rider were nearly impossible with blinding rain and the obscurity of darkness.

The first drops of rain cooled Murtagh's parched skin, but did little to relieve him. Though pain still wracked his beaten body, fear crept into his thoughts and caused him to refocus. The patter of rain became more steady, drops racing down Thorn's scales and running down the edge of the saddle, stinging the rider's face and arms. The distant ground below became dark and wet and Murtagh's thin clothing stuck to his body as he became soaked. Though he could feel the cold settling into him, Murtagh broke out into a cold sweat and his heart began to race. It would take but an instant to throw them off-course, plummeting back to the earth. The only rain the rider had encountered had been when he was safely on the ground or within the castle. Though his instincts had told him the power of nature could be destructive, never before had it imparted upon him that it could be so dangerous. Now, that realization had become a reality as Thorn carried them through the storm, his body fixed on his course toward the King's daughter and her dragon.

Murtagh's skin prickled and the hair on his bare arms raised. The air electrified as a bolt of lightening flashed not a dragon-length to their left. The ensuing thunder was so loud that the rider felt as if his head would split in two. As Murtagh's eyes again adjusted to the dark, another flash ahead struck the ground and a spark of light illuminated a tree in flames that were extinguished with the rain. The power of the storm raged around them as they flew deeper into the dark clouds that overlapped one another in a never-ending display of nature's fury. Though the quick pace at which they flew caused their balance to be precarious, their speed remained steadfast. Murtagh's head jerked and his heart lurched into his throat as a gust of wind blew them sideways, but his legs were strapped into the saddle and the dragon regained control a moment later, plowing through the rain. Both dragon and rider could do nothing but continue on their path through the raging storm. Murtagh was grateful, however, that though Thorn was as trapped as he was, _Hljödhr Rauthr _still maintained a semblance of instinct that could, with any luck, allow them to survive.

After what seemed like leagues of merciless weather, the darkness began to recede, revealing white clouds through which shone shafts of gentle sunlight. The sun illuminated the puddles below that had accumulated in the rain that was now no more than a drizzle. Shivering, though greatly relieved, Murtagh allowed his mind to wander. Drops of water from his hair slid down his neck. He would have shuddered as it ran in currents down his scar were his body not paralyzed. As he was reminded of the event, he realized how similar he and his father had become. Though Murtagh was born into enslavement in the Empire, he too carried out the grotesque deeds that Galbatorix's _Wyrdfell_ had accomplished on a larger scale. He too fought alongside the Empire's armies and followed their cause loyally. He too was given assignments that nearly inevitably ended in bloodshed and a cruel death at the end of his sword, magic or whatever he had at his and Thorn's disposal. He too was a figure that the rest of Alagaësia both feared and reviled, the cause of the demise of any hope they once had to extinguish the effect that the Empire held on their land. Though every fiber of his being rebelled against the treacheries he was forced to commit, there was little he could do. The freedoms he acted upon were always cruelly punished and inflicted as much harm upon his dragon as Murtagh himself. His rebellion did little to aid his every attempt to elude Galbatorix's grasp, and when he became too bold, defying the orders he had been given, the King regained control unequivocally through the use of their true names. Now he and Thorn alone were going to determine the fate of Alagaësia, with no options left.

As the last of the raindrops fell, Murtagh felt something stir within him. A new strength that was within his grasp and yet he could not reach out and use it. As his mind was under his control, the empty shell of his body was forced to speak instead of think the language that would normally hold as much power as the verbalized words.

"Atra eka un iet Skulblaka waíse heill." The strange whisper of a voice surprised Murtagh, though the words of the ancient language which he repeated desperately in his mind were useless. Though frustrated at his worthless attempts to free them, he could feel his wounds stitch together and his body again became as solid as the thick muscle that covered his body. The mauled patches of Thorn's wings knitted themselves back into place and his many deep scratches disappeared beneath newly-healed skin and scales. Movement caught Murtagh's eye and he cast his eyes downward. A small group of scraggly trees' leaves fell from their branches and the trunks darkened to a sickly appearance. Birds that had flown among the foliage dropped from the sky, dead before they landed. A strange silence ensued as the entire ecosystem was depleted of life. Murtagh averted his eyes; with the appearance of life came the ability to cast magic, whether willfully or not. The sources that surrounded them were more easily accessed than the prisoners of Helgrind, and Murtagh sorely hoped his actions had continued to keep innocent prisoners from meeting their ends that way. But while the pain that had wracked his body faded, a new fear met his thoughts. They were restrengthened, unharmed and had full use of any level of magic imaginable. Murtagh's mind recoiled-Lenora and Eridor wouldn't stand a chance.

Unable to resist the inevitable, he thought about the truly unforgivable crime that he and Thorn were about to commit. Knowing that Saphira was the last dragoness in the land, he had never had to face a similar fear regarding his brother. But to kill the only person who had truly understood, trusted and befriended him, along with the love that he could no longer deny was that of only friendship that he felt toward her, was blasphemy. The mere mention of her death caused his heart to constrict, but at his own hands was worse than anything he could imagine. Especially while under the influence of his true name, unable to even apologize for his actions or allow her to dictate his actions and therefore, have a glimmer of hope. He welcomed the idea of her victory, the tables turned as she thrust her sword through his chest and allowing him to die instead of constantly pursuing her in a mission to kill. He played out the events in his mind, coming to the realization that Galbatorix would not accept anything but complete success. In order to gain access to Tronjheim, he would have to slaughter all in his path with one of the powerful words of death, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. There would be no time wasted, and Murtagh suspected that _Wyrdan Domia _would use the same method to complete the task, killing Lenora and Eridor before they could even know he was there. And he wouldn't even be able to shed a tear over her.

Consumed by guilt, Murtagh blamed himself for what was to occur. Had he never freed Lenora, she would have survived. A dismal, lonely life within the dungeons of the castle, but a life nonetheless. Murtagh imagined visiting her every day, bringing her news of the goings-on of the land, how he had managed to disclose the location of the last egg to the Varden who stole it and had it hatch for a rider dedicated to their cause. How the Varden were building up an army that could take down that of the Empire. Once Galbatorix had been defeated, Murtagh would rescue Lenora from her cell and they would live a long and happy life together. But this had been naught but a fantasy, and he had dealt with the situation as he had saw fit at the time. Freeing her had been a difficult decision because he knew that once Galbatorix had discovered his daughter missing, none other than the Red Rider would have been sent after her. But he had not expected the King to find out so soon. He had hoped that enough time would have elapsed in order for she and her dragon to be able to stand a chance against him, but in his efforts to help her, he had effectively condemned her to her death.

He and Thorn had only been placed under the spell of their true names once before, when Galbatorix demonstrated just how much he could control them, and what would happen should they disobey. Murtagh had little idea of what would happen after they completed their task. He suspected that he would be a useless heap of depressed Shur'tugal, and welcomed the idea of giving himself up to the Varden's mercy, allowing them to avenge the death of their new rider in whatever fashion they desired, as long as Murtagh never saw the light of day again. The only option left for Galbatorix would be to maintain the control of _Wyrdan Domia_ and _Hljödhr Rauthr_, knowing their misery to be compromising. Of course, Eragon and Saphira were not to be slaughtered in the murder. Murtagh and Thorn would be forced to capture the Varden's dragon and rider as quickly and easily as it had been to destroy Lenora, and return to the Empire with them in tow. Alagaësia would never be the same, and Murtagh would not be able to live with himself. Perhaps once the Varden was stripped of its riders, they would accept that there was no hope of conquering the Empire and Murtagh would no longer be needed. Afterwards, he would decide what to do with himself. He wondered if there was a way of separating himself from Thorn before he took his own life. As he allowed his thoughts to take on a bleak level of morbidity, something he would never allow Thorn to witness, they entered the Beor mountains. Not a league within the mountain range, something changed.

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As he heard his true name spoken, the ruby dragon knew resistance was futile. This state that Galbatorix had imposed upon them reminded Thorn of the time he had spent within his egg. When his mind had been his own, the nagging knowledge that there was something vital missing that would only be fulfilled once connected to a rider, and when there had been no body to control, just empty darkness and waiting. His limbs were unresponsive, his wings carrying them to their destination and the slaughter of the only friends they had been fortunate to make during their time with the enemy. His mind registered the relentless strokes of his wings that shot pain through the nerves and reopened barely-healed wounds, but like his rider, he was trapped in his own thoughts. His mind completely his own for what looked to be several days by the distance they had yet to travel, Thorn gave thought not only to the impending fight, but to his and his rider's fates. He knew just how much Murtagh relied upon him for strength when their circumstances began to weigh upon them, and thus normally banished thoughts of doubt before Murtagh could detect them.

The storm was something the young dragon had never experienced. While Shruikan had instructed him to land or shelter in the dragon hold when storm clouds formed, Thorn's subconscious mind had always paired storms with concern. The rain itself, though of little concern to a dragon, could cause hyperthermia in his rider or cause the saddle to slip. The deafening noise was frightening, but harmless. It was the bolts of lightening and winds that were the most threatening aspects. With the altitude they held, it was most likely to strike them than anything else, and the wind could just as easily upset his wings and they would plummet to their deaths. This fact was his primary concern as it threw them off course, but just as quickly, his body righted itself in a maneuver Thorn knew he would be hard-pressed to accomplish were _Hljödhr Rauthr _not in control. Though it allowed them to navigate through the storm, Thorn acquired a new respect for his alter-self.

The ability to fly and propel them forward despite the arduous circumstances and the injuries he had sustained awed the dragon. Having been through Shruikan and Galbatorix's grueling training, he had believed himself to be as strong and powerful as he could be. From the time he had hatched, he and Murtagh had been expected to do better than their best and excel in their tasks or face the consequences, many of which consisted of great amounts of pain, which allowed them to built up a tolerance. They were assigned tasks which required them to give up their emotion and became mechanized, allowing them to kill without mercy. As a result, they had become desensitized to everything but the task at hand until it was competed. But this was an entirely new level. No amount of pain, save for a debilitating or fatal blow, would stop _Hljödhr Rauthr. _He would accomplish whatever was expected of him, no questions asked and no reservations. No task was too great or too far-fetched. It caused Thorn to draw further strength from his belief that his "true self" was not who he really was. This shell of a dragon was emotionless, only thought in order to strategize (though preferred brute force over devising a method that Thorn might have discovered from hunting prey) and was nearly immune to pain. This creature was exactly what Galbatorix strived to create, but failed to realize that no-one was quite as mad in their machinations as he. _Wyrdan Domia_ and _Hljödhr Rauthr _appeared to be construed toward Galbatorix's desires. Thorn was certain that, though powerful, their true names could be used for something other than destruction if used by the correct individual.

As the rain ceased and Thorn's mind was again able to relax a degree, the sight of the mountain line rising from the horizon reminded him of their mission. Though he and his rider involuntarily neared their target, Thorn could hardly imagine the devastation in which they would be forced to participate. They would witness, helpless, as their bodies committed cold-blooded murder, destroyed hundreds individuals and affected countless more as the families of Farthen Dûr's guards grieved their losses, decimated the possibility of success for the entire Varden, killed their new dragon and rider, and finally stole their remaining rider and forced him to join the Empire. No dragon and rider would go down in history as more abhorred and perfidious, for even Galbatorix never attempted to acquire the trust of the resistance. Their actions would be the catalyst for a different land, where fear prevailed so strongly that there would be no-one to build up a resistance and rebel. The people and creatures of Alagaësia would eventually come to accept the Empire as a constant, their ruler and their God. They would come to love Galbatorix and none would be so bold as to stand before him. It was a fate that he and Murtagh had sought to suppress, but without the advantages that the Varden's riders offered, they would be crushed beneath the hand of the King.

An unfamiliar sound interrupted his thoughts. The almost serpentine voice that came from his rider's mouth was eerie. It held the same tone of barely-contained fervor as Galbatorix, as if the murders they were about to commit excited him. Thorn tried desperately to think of Murtagh's voice as it normally sounded when they held long conversations together. As he blocked out the sound, not listening to what was said, he could feel his wounds fade and the wind current flow more smoothly beneath his wings. He couldn't resist the increase in speed that this offered. Free from the desert, his rider could again use magic, though none of it originated from his body. Instead, as the true killer that Galbatorix's molded _Wyrdan Domia_ was, all the energy that had healed them came from the plants and animals on the ground below. While this would have gone against what Murtagh had believed in, a tactic he had only employed the use of when in combat and fatigued, it would also have been physically impossible from the distance which he had conjured the magic, but which allowed the body of his rider to maintain the same level of energy he had before. Clearly, they were not a force to be reckoned with, but a force to flee from should one desire to live.

This made his predicament all the worse. As they were trapped, cut off from the world except in their senses, Murtagh and Thorn were completely unable to influence the outcome of the fight. It was bound to not be much of a fight either, but more of a one-dragon and one-rider massacre. There was no fairness involved. Lenora and Eridor would simply be two of the many victims who would meet their ends when they arrived, the last thing that they would ever see. A battle with one-hundred percent casualties on one side. They would kill the two individuals that they had worked so hard to set free and give a decent life. They were the ones that he and Murtagh had expected to determine the outcome of the war they had hoped to witness. Now Galbatorix had eliminated any chance of downfall and would reign for years to come. Saphira, and in effect Eragon, would be only tools in the Empire's rise to ultimate power, spawning the children of destruction. Thorn would be the father of a generation of dragons that would be bred to live off of devastation and carnage. Thorn detested the thought of ravaging Saphira, and the knowledge that despite the supposed joys of being a sire should she accept him, that he would never be able to love his own hatchlings.

And what would happen to them after they had begun the grotesque revolution? How would his rider be affected by the death of the only woman he had ever loved? Thorn knew love only in his connection to Murtagh, and the feelings that had translated to him when Murtagh had thought of Lenora or the brotherly love he felt for Eragon. Hatched into a world where he was given only one mate as an option, and one who would never come to trust him, much less accept him, Thorn had long since acknowledged that he could quite possibly never have a mate. He worried about Murtagh, now completely unable to comfort his rider who, he was certain, was in much the same predicament as the dragon. Thorn had been able to detect the emotions that his rider had attempted to seclude from him. Those of misery, hopelessness, and most of all, depression that had grown since they had left the castle. After they had destroyed their targets, Thorn feared that his rider would resort to drastic measures to eliminate the emotional turmoil that he no doubt would be experiencing. Thorn realized that the connection Murtagh shared with him had saved the rider many a time when he had been on the verge of giving up before, but this was something completely different. This would directly affect Murtagh in a way that none of their previous actions could have, and the dragon could not accept the possibility that Murtagh could attempt to take his own life. Though he didn't fear death, he knew that Alagaësia could benefit greatly from Murtagh's benevolent presence, and that given the freedom, his rider could accomplish great things.

Traveling faster than they ever had before, _Hljödhr Rauthr _had taken them from the desert and into the Beors in a time Thorn would have believed impossible. This pace refused to be broken as they navigated the mountain range that pressed in upon them and acted like a presences of its own. The mountains seemed to threaten the intruders and glimpses of wildlife that fled from their dark presence was nearly three-times its own size. Though he knew Murtagh to have ventured into these mountains before, they daunted the young dragon. A quiet humming had begun in Thorn's head as they had entered the mountain range that grew steadily louder as they traveled. He could feel his wing beats slowing ever so slightly as the humming began to take on the form of garbled words. He panicked for a moment, believing _Hljödhr Rauthr _to be invading his mind and completely eradicating his presence. Then, one of the words surprised him.

_Thorn. _He heard his name, but couldn't identify the speaker. His true self wouldn't address him, believing his being was disposable and only needed use of his body. _Thorn._ Louder this time, and it sounded like…

_Murtagh? Is that you?_ To hope for such a possibility seemed cruel.

_Thorn? _Murtagh's unmistakable voice entered his thoughts. Shocked, Thorn looked at his rider-and found that he could. He swiveled his head and faced Murtagh head on. The sight stunned him. His rider, though wearing a smile, looked horrible. Then Thorn realized he had control of his body, and that he no longer was flapping his wings. _Hljödhr Rauthr _was not flapping his wings.

Murtagh's voice, though a rasp, was a sweet sound to the dragon. "Land, Thorn, but don't fall." The realization that he could control his body hit Thorn, and he pumped his wings to aid their descent. He landed on the forest floor, littered with giant pinecones and leaf litter, and he realized how tired his muscles were. His legs collapsed upon impact and his wings slumped to the sides. He welcomed the moistness of the ground. While his true self had contained Thorn to his mind, his body had shown no effects of fatigue until the spell had worn off. He calculated that he had been flying for several days, and hadn't eaten in longer. Murtagh was in much the same state, and slid out of the saddle, falling on his back onto the moist ground with a groan. Thorn lifted his head, punctured leaves on the thorns under his jaw, and placed it next to his rider.

_Are you alright? _he asked, staring intently at Murtagh. His rider looked at him and reached up to rest his hand on Thorn's eye ridge.

_Just tired…and hungry, _he replied. _How are you? You have been the one doing all the work this whole time._

_Nay, not me, _Thorn corrected. _Hljödhr Rauthr did the work, but I get to suffer for it._

_What happened? Why are we…ourselves? _Murtagh wondered. _The effect of one's true name cannot simply wear off._

_I know not Murtagh, _Thorn replied. _All I know is that I am grateful._

_Aye, but will it return? Is this only a reprieve from the madness? _Thorn closed his eyes. His tired mind allowed him to concentrate on the idea for only a short time, but he came to a realization.

_It began when we entered the mountains. Somehow, the magic must have been cut off. These mountains possess a power I cannot determine, but perhaps that is the reason._

Murtagh raised an eyebrow in skepticism. _The mountains are more powerful than Galbatorix?_

_I only offered a suggestion. Do you have a better one?_

Murtagh laughed, a great weight lifted from him. If Thorn was right, circumstances were going to turn out much differently. Either way, he was too tired to give it considerable thought. _Nay. I say we accept that explanation, and get some rest. _He glanced at his dragon for affirmation. Thorn was already asleep.

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**A/N: Thanks to RoyalKiwi, Craigthedragonrider, Platypus Caper, lulu, Fresh Blood, Smileysun and Sabrina for the reviews, and all the rest for reading. As long as you've read this far, please leave a review-any constructive criticism is appreciated.**

**~Emerald Dragon Rider**


	34. Vulnerable

Chapter 33-Vulnerable

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

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The King himself was not the image of undeniable power. Though his body was preserved in a younger form, deep creases on his forehead and the stiffness of his gait revealed his ancient, worn age. Few had witnessed the raw power he controlled and the immeasurable limits to his magic prowess, and those that had had since perished or refused to speak of the atrocities they had seen. Shruikan, for all his malevolent, notorious nature, seemed more like a fixture of the Great Hall than a dangerous beast. Rhyanon was not fooled. She knew, unlike those who dared whisper their suspicions among themselves, that these illusions were naught but a facade. Though she had not witnessed firsthand the monster she knew resided beneath the surface, she had healed the wounds of those who had felt the effects of his wounding wrath. It was only through her duteous studies of magical healing and the inner workings of dark magic that these individuals still lived.

For the fourth time, Rhyanon found herself approaching Galbatorix and the lair known to most as the throne room. This was the place where he could comfortably commit his acts of brutality where none but the few-such as Rhyanon herself-could view the gruesome results. She had seen the Empire's rider lying helpless and broken on the floors of that room, nearly unrecognizable save for his massive ruby dragon, having both been in perfect health upon entering. Though it would seem that Galbatorix thus made a conscious effort to shield these actions from his subjects, only those who had spent considerable time within the castle and near his formidable presence knew the true reasons behind what he did.

To be blatant and outlandish was to be literal and limit oneself to the true reaches of their abilities. However, to maintain a distance between what was actually occurring and the majority of his people, Galbatorix used fear to generate a much larger effect. Instead of knowing the details of the King's power and the punishments those that chose to defy him endured, those who lived under the influence of the Empire could only imagine the levels which his power could attain. These conjectures blossomed into stories told through generations, and Galbatorix's powers gradually became limitless in the minds of those who listened and shared these vague, yet daunting blood-stained stories that contained more fabricated scenarios than those that had a connection to reality. It was what he represented and the immeasurable power under his control that caused others to avoid his presence and respect the tight rule enforced on their land.

Those that lived in the immediate presence of the King had, over time, gained a better sense of his methods. Though these people too lived in fear of their dictator, the knowledge they possessed held more credibility. They knew, unlike those that lived leagues away, that the King rarely left his quarters unless to teach on the training fields, something reserved for the few and which had happened with much less frequency within the last few months. Those he conferred with reported to the throne room or the training fields. One might take him to be a quiet, introspective man in his habits, save for the individuals who entered his lair and were either never seen again or were tended to by the healers.

Through witnessing the victims of the King's wrath, Rhyanon feared Galbatorix because of the lengths to which he went to maim or kill. In all her years of practicing the art of healing, she had never witnessed worse injuries than those that painted the flesh of those individuals to which she had the opportunity to attend and, perhaps, rescue. To contemplate the possibility of herself becoming the one in need of skilled and creative magical healing to the extent that she had laid eyes on, always stood on the fringes of her mind like a cougar waiting to pounce, as she made her way to report to the King. The thought alone had her debating between facing the King or running from the castle entirely, taking up a new life and identity far from the reaches of the Empire as she once lived. But, Rhyanon realized, the consequences would never be worth the risk. Though she suspected only she and Galbatorix knew, given the circumstances of the situation, Rhyanon often felt as if the glances of the guards she passed lingered on her for a fraction too long, causing her to increase her pace in growing fear. They may not know what it was that she reported to the King, but it was of dire importance and she was an asset that the Empire couldn't afford to lose.

She recalled the spell that had her currently forced to face her worst fears. Her life as a simple magical healer had ended one day when one difference between she and her counterparts became the determining factor that had led to where she was now. Rhyanon's interest in magic had always been strong. The mystery of the art and the potential it possessed both fascinated and frightened her. She had found that with a great deal of practice and learning, she could harness simple spells, but with which she could achieve what was previously thought impossible. With this ability, she had discovered a way to connect her hobby with her passion, helping and caring for those around her, by pursuing a life as a healer. Faced with challenges that required a quick and creative mind, the craft forced her to find new and improved methods to complete the tasks that she was given. Finding new realms hidden beneath what was held in confidence before, there seemed to be no end to the potential that magic and healing could offer. She forged deeper into magic but became frustrated when she discovered that she could only apply what she had learned to a level that she constantly strived to raise.

Though she felt her own abilities inadequate, Rhyanon had soon found the line of work didn't live up to her expectations. Her hometown of Therinsford offered little variety to the folk that resided there or passed through from Carvahall. She often found herself treating the same patients repeatedly, but most often the symptoms were ordinary and simple to cure, required little time and effort on her part and thus, she found that the rates she could charge were meager, supplemented by the fact that the community was built on and supported by farmland and crops, leaving most with little money to spare as it was. Once, she had treated a young girl for extensive burns, requiring magical means to stretch the bordering healthy skin over the damaged areas to mend the wounds, but this was one of only a few instances in which she had to rely on anything other than common herbal remedies. Though the regular broken bone could be magically splinted, this method was normally much more painful and entirely more expensive, and thus, there were few who decided to try these means.

As a resort, Rhyanon not only grew bored and unsatisfied with her work, but soon found that it would hardly support her wellbeing. In order to obtain more shipments of rare herbs, medical equipment and an assistant, there needed to be a minimum income that was growing more difficult to come by as the years passed. As she soon had to relieve her assistant of her duties due to insufficient wages, and limit her stock of supplies, her patients grew more concerned. Did she have enough plaster for splints and casts? Was there enough medication for the yearly allergies that spread through the town like wildfire? Was there enough salve for burns and to calm smarting wounds? Rhyanon soon found herself unable to answer these questions herself.

On a brisk February day, she noticed a dwindling in the numbers of patients, and her suddenly-sufficient meager stock of provisions. Cautious to leave her house that served as both dwelling and office lest she miss increasingly infrequent customers, she waited until one of her regulars came in to ascribe the reasons for recent reductions in business. She soon discovered the cause for her dwindling clientele was due to a new healer across town, who had come with the annual winter travelers and saw potential in the place. Being of both an amicable and inquisitive nature, Rhyanon decided it worthwhile to take a lunch outside of the office-something she hadn't done since she had been on her own-and investigate the competition.

Rhyanon still couldn't decide which was more aggravating: the fact that the healer had come from Gil'ead, or that his methods were much more ordinary and mundane than her own, but who had already gained more business than she, a long-time resident, had in several months' time. These figures she had gleaned from a long wait in the room assigned to patients who had yet to meet with the healer, an amenity for which Rhyanon for had never had a use. However, the easily-persuaded ill members of Therinsford had confided in Rhyanon's practices for over a decade, so their sudden shift in loyalties sparked the healer's interest. To her disappointment, Rhyanon found the reasons lay within lower rates which the new healer could afford and his notoriety from the city of the Empire. Though he was not of the same, charismatic personality that Rhyanon was, her having lived within the small, close-knit community and developing bonds with the people whom she treated, monetary incentives were high in a place where crowns were counted daily and luxuries were few and far between. Though her abilities, with the knowledge of magic, were considerably more acute, these practices were so infrequently used that a healer of equivalent ability on the normal scale could compete easily with Rhyanon and, potentially, drive her out of her business given time.

Yet it was in meeting Colthan, a young, handsome and considerably more attractive individual than herself, Rhyanon discovered a wild, but promising opportunity. Though he offered no suggestion as to compromising to accommodate both healers in the small town, something he must have considered and deemed unnecessary to be dealt with from the beginning, what he did mention intrigued Rhyanon. Though he used to practice within the wealthier regions of Gil'ead, something he wished to escape from (explaining his major upset in location), he would sometimes confer with other healers to discuss advancements and new procedures as to better his own. In one of these gatherings, it was rumored that there was an opening in the magical healers' guild within the castle of Galbatorix himself. What had happened to the healer which would be replaced was anyone's guess, but, as was the tendency of those who lived in fear of the King, it was said she had been unfaithful and had paid the ultimate price for her treason. Of course, this had been months ago when Colthan had still lived within the confines of the Empire and his abilities, though he was wont to assert their success, did not, alas, include magic.

It took Rhyanon a week to decide. To work for the Empire and the King was to work for the devil himself. Once she had made the transition, there was no going back. Any ties she had made with those outside of the Empire would be extinguished as quickly as a candle in a swift breeze and she would be considered a traitor, becoming more ugly and devious as stories took on the interpretations of the individuals who told them. But it was clear: she was not earning enough to stay where she was, and it was likely that this trend would continue wherever she went. To work within Gil'ead seemed a possibility until she recalled Colthan's assertion that Galbatorix's funds for even the wealthy were not what they should be, and it would be a slightly-more enhanced version of her situation in Therinsford. But the guild within the castle was something else entirely. These people were highly rewarded for their abilities and the amazing rescues they accomplished on a day-to-day basis. They were paid handsomely and never went on an empty stomach. Most of all, they were given tasks that no other healers could achieve, challenges which Rhyanon craved. This was assuming that they were loyal and never deviated from the King's ways. It was this that gave Rhyanon pause and caused long, sleepless nights of indecision and inner torment.

So she had made the decision, and taking what little she could and the money she had left, set out on her own to prove herself worthy of a position that most in their right mind would give a wide berth. But she was younger then and desperate. She also had a selfish inner desire to fulfill her old dreams of being a healer who could use every advantage she possessed-including magic-to become wealthy and successful. After discovering she was one out of only four applicants for the position-a fact that should have caused her to question the conditions of the job-and enduring a thorough test of both her normal and magical healing abilities, as well as many ambiguous questions regarding loyalty versus personal opinion, she found that she was offered the spot. Greedily, snapped up the chance like an emaciated dog after a scrap of meat. Her life changed in more ways than she had anticipated.

The gore she had witnessed was something she had not anticipated. She had thought herself prepared, but when presented with a heap of bloody, indistinguishable flesh hanging off of the bones with organs nearly falling from their hosts, she was taken aback. It was only through the knowledge that the wounds on the patient she now treated were inflicted by Galbatorix, who wouldn't hesitate to do the same to her should she choose to defy his orders, that she overcame this shock and was quick to work.

However, it was the two individuals in which she had healed after altercations with the King in the throne room that Rhyanon was most interested. Murtagh, the Red Rider, along with his dragon, and the girl whose name she was never told, but who Rhyanon could tell was different. Not only through the inconsistencies with her orders regarding this individual, but through a quick examination of the patient, in whose eyes shone a fierce determination and a lack of general fear that was certainly uncommon when dealing with the King. Though Rhyanon continued to consider herself apart from the Empire, working for the King as a matter of necessity and not necessarily choice, she wondered about these two and commiserated with them in her own way. The guilt she felt from the actions she had taken on the second victim plagued her night and day and she had yet to come to terms with her own incriminating actions. She uncovered whatever secrets about them that she could, a difficult task given that their lives and identities-she soon discovered-were kept under lock and key. It was an ongoing investigation, one which she knew she would pay dearly for should Galbatorix find out.

As such, Rhyanon feared reporting to Galbatorix all the more, especially since her findings were obviously not in the King's interest. As she once again entered through the impressive wooden doors, she could sense the anger he restrained beneath a thin mask. Due to her reasons for seeing him, her presence alone enraged him. Remembering her previous conversation with Galbatorix, she forwent bowing before him and Shruikan, her knees shaking in fear should he have changed his mindset from before. When only a moment had passed and she could see his face indistinctly from the alternating torchlight, she hesitantly spoke.

"My Lord," she began, her voice shaking, "I have come to report that it has happened again." To see his countenance change was almost like watching a statue come to life, save for the magical aura that she had stepped into upon entering the room. At her words, two red slits appeared near the floor and the shape of Shruikan's massive head took shape. She fought the urge to flinch as she felt the intensity of his power in combination with that of the King.

"How much time has passed since this particular incidence has occurred?" Galbatorix inquired.

Rhyanon's answer was quick; she knew what it was he asked. "I came as soon as I felt the curse's effects." As before, Galbatorix consulted the dish beside his throne. An image of his daughter, unconscious, bloodied, cloaked in shadows and highly restrained as if she were in the same room, appeared on the surface. This was a circumstance Lenora would never have allowed to happen, should she have been in normal condition. It would appear she had used magic and afterward, succumbing to the power of the curse Rhyanon and thoroughly established (in what Lenora had interpreted as simple healing magic due to her then-limited knowledge of the ancient language), had been at the mercy of the Varden, who apparently were not as interested in her benefits as she would have hoped.

"You led me to believe that this curse would cause pain comparable to that of my own inventions." His tone suggested Rhyanon was in the wrong. It was up to her to prove she had done what he asked. She maintained her composure-she had been too cowardly (in her mind, but which translated into too smart) to attempt to deceive the King through wording the spell in such as way as to give the girl any chance to escape its devastating effects.

"My liege, the spell encompasses the very worst pain level that I could construe into the ancient language," she asserted carefully. The face of both the King and his dragon scrutinized her as she spoke. "No individual, human or otherwise, should be able to withstand that kind of agony without repercussions on a severe level." The ensuing silence was tormenting.

"Return to your quarters. Report back immediately if this happens again," he stated with a tone that signified they were finished. "And it shouldn't happen again." Rhyanon shuddered, but quickly backed into the shadows and exited the room. Though the effects of the spell were indeterminable to her, it didn't require much imagination to envision the possibilities. The guilt slowly consumed her fear as she distanced herself from the monster known as the King.

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The healer's request to meet with him had unsettled Galbatorix. He knew what she had to say before she uttered a word. Had he not instructed her in the most direct way to construct the most effective curse to control Lenora should she discover and attempt to harness the power of magic? There were few times when Galbatorix doubted his own power. When Murtagh had been able to fashion a way around his orders, Galbatorix had punished the rider, but too, he had berated himself for his own foolishness. To be careless was negligent and presented a great weakness. It allowed the Empire's rider to grow bold, bold enough to defy his ruler, knowing he would survive the punishment. Once Galbatorix had established this change in roles, he had quickly and unequivocally reclaimed authority by eliminating any chance of the rider's further rebellion through the use of Murtagh's and Thorn's true names. Not often was this method employed, for it was a constant drain on the King's reserves of magical power, but it was well worth the side effects in order to eradicate the stain that was his daughter.

Now the event of a second incident had him second-guessing himself. Because his methods were so direct and effective, it was not often when the results were so disconcerting and unpredictable. It would seem that the extensive training through which he had put Lenora had been more effective than he had anticipated. Or perhaps it was exactly as he had originally intended, had she not been under the teachings of the Varden's rider and learning the ancient language and the magic that infused its words. He had been fairly certain, after witnessing the aftermath of Lenora's first attempt to perform magic, that she wouldn't be inclined to try again. He knew his daughter was not dull enough to not be able to connect the magic with the pain in an instance so intense. The remaining option was one that he wished not to address.

He and Anne had named Lenora after Fildon's dragon out of respect for a friend and the Forsworn and, hoping, that their daughter would be as steady and strong as her namesake. The many punishments he had inflicted upon Lenora were thorough and had instilled in her a general tolerance for pain when the situation called for it. Despite this history, what the healer had been instructed to do was create a curse which would create an effect significantly worse than any of these instances, something that was completely debilitating in the event that she did use magic. This had been the consequence for her attempt at escape and for Galbatorix to assure himself that she would never be a great threat. Now all those convictions came crashing down with the news of a second incident and his anger returned to the surface. Something exploded in the hallway outside the throne room, causing several guards to shout in surprise. Just as suddenly as his anger returned, he realized that it was futile. His daughter had long since given up her fear of him and his wrath. So why did he persist in trying to make her fear and hate him?

The mind was a mysterious thing, but Galbatorix had made it his mission to unravel its secrets and understand what made people act and think the way they did. He studied the woman's antics. The way she cowered before him, the way she couldn't meet his eyes, the way she stuttered and couldn't find the courage to stand up to him or challenge his words. Fear was a powerful motivator; it could manipulate the mind and control one's actions even when there is nothing to truly fear. It could show a man's true colors-especially on the battlefield. Though many could claim they were soldiers, only the few could say they faced their fears and prevailed. Fear was debilitating, yes, but so too was it something that could breed strength. Either a man fought or he ran, there was no other choice. But however powerful the fear of losing one's life was, in the end, the decision normally remained attached to the ties that an individual had made in their lifetime, to those that they loved.

Love was a word that Galbatorix loathed and had ceased to use long ago. It was the ultimate weakness, the one emotion that he no longer felt, nor wished to feel. Its absence gave him power over all others in situations where they would be severely disadvantaged and he would prevail. Those people who were his comrades would sacrifice themselves for their friends and families. They would trade anything for the preservation of their loved ones, giving in to any whim or fancy that was desired of them, however gruesome and cruel it may be and never glance back, never think twice about what they did because they believed it was the way things should be. Galbatorix had been like them at one point.

There was a time when he had cared. Cared for Anne, cared for Lenora, but most of all cared for Miremel. His true dragon, those beautiful green scales that sparkled in the rising sun and the rumbling laugh that made him shiver. The way she flew was magical in itself, gliding so gracefully above the treetops, dipping into lakes without the faintest trace. But the day came when Miremel was murdered, the consequence of his own mistake. Part of his soul died, and what remained was gnawed on by guilt. He lived in a world where madness began and ended his days and his thoughts were as clear as the thick mud in which his dragon had died. His friends had tried to help him, and his family missed his absence for months until he found the strength in himself to change. The only way to continue moving forward and live a life of worth was to free himself of the agony that ripped through his heart with every new day without his dragon. It took months more to learn how not to care. He had never considered himself a benevolent man, knowing in his heart that he cared for those who offered him something in return, and loved fewer still, but the transition had not been without difficulty. Seclusion and manic acts of brutality drove the thoughts of his previous life behind him. He had learned and molded himself into a being who didn't care for others and whose feelings were devoid of love. It was why he spend his days in the bowels of his castle, alone. He had come to know distancing himself from others was the best way not to care. To entwine oneself in the lives of others beyond that of pure necessity was foolish and could easily lead down the path of destruction. Galbatorix believed he had truly loved Miremel and as such, it was her death that drove him to insanity and greed. Greed for power and corruption. Greed for control and the plague of fear. Greed for the power to forget all that had been and focus on all that was to be.

As such, he had never cared for Shruikan. When he stole the hatchling, murdering its rider, he knew that this whelp would never replace his emerald beauty. These thoughts had been driven out of his mind many months previous to procuring the dragon and it was with a single mindset that it was stolen. Shruikan turned out to be easily bent under the power of his dark magic, he too forgetting what his life once offered him, and the once-great beast became nothing more than a weapon and a convenient way to travel. It was also fitting that his subjects would cower further in fear when they glimpsed the black dragon, bringing a smile to their King's face. Not much could compare to how it felt to be all-powerful in a place and time where no one could defeat him or even dream to match his abilities, a place where he ruled with a heavy hand and no one dared challenge him.

But Galbatorix could still sense that Shruikan knew. The dragon knew in his mind that their bond was not the same as other dragon and rider bonds, but the magic had crawled its way into the furthest depths of his mind and psyche for several hundred years and now, even the clever and wise dragon couldn't determine what it was that separated he and Galbatorix. But there was a part of Galbatorix that only he could sense. In their time together, Shruikan had never received a loving word or any sign that the relationship he shared with the King was anything other than contemporaries that used each other for what they had need for, yet deep within the mind of the King there was a highly guarded section that every so often opened for a glancing moment, letting loose a wave of sadness, loss and, most of all, love, before receding just as quickly into its cage of confinement. The images Shruikan glimpsed in these rare instances were of a young, female, green dragon, glowing and vibrant with life, but one that he had never known to exist. So Shruikan knew there was something that even he, the King's dragon himself, was not permitted to know about his partner, but it allowed the dragon to realize that Galbatorix was not as steadfast and evil as most would claim. There was a break in his defenses beneath the façade, something that made him feel incredibly vulnerable and weak. Thus, he protected his rider, knowing in his heart, that there was more to the man than would seem.

Thus Galbatorix too, knew the dragon's reasons for staying loyal to his rider. Despite the magic that bound them, the King doubted Shruikan would leave his side should this tie be severed. It too, was through love and devotion that they remained dragon and rider. Lenora's sacrifices to bear the pain that no one should ever face was to save someone she cared about, perhaps loved enough to give up her only advantage and be at the mercy of her captors because it was worth the risk. This type of sacrifice required courage, but its basis lay in the heart. Thus, in the right circumstances, love was powerful, but debilitating all the same. Though she was the hero who saved the day, in the end, she was nothing but another casualty. Love made one vulnerable. Hate made one invincible.

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**A/N: Clear a few things up? Thought I owed everyone the answer to this mystery given the inordinately late update. Enjoy.**

**Thanks to The Platypus Caper, N.C. Firefighter-Chick, YamiYoukai, lulu, ImaginativeRainbowPenguin, Taeniaea and Sabrina for the reviews, and all the rest for reading. As long as you've read this far, please leave a review-any constructive criticism is appreciated. ****I realize the writing in this chapter could use some improvement, but I had to post something.**

**~Emerald Dragon Rider**


	35. Recompense

Chapter 34-Recompense

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Series, any of Paolini's characters, or the Ancient Language. I also haven't read Brisingr, so please don't mention it!**

Apprehension filled her that morning under the dim light that flowed from the top of Farthen Dûr. Perhaps it was the circumstances under which she found herself. In a little less than a week, Lenora had accomplished a great many feats of terror and betrayal, each of which loomed above her like the blade of a guillotine. She and Eridor had invaded the fortress of the resistance, feeling like traitors to the ones they so desperately wished to help. Should the Varden learn the secrets of her past, they would never accept her within their own territory and would consider Nasuada's acceptance of the King's daughter as blasphemy and an ultimately damning mistake. The traditional coronation itself had been forever destroyed by their arrival; however lifesaving it had proven, the ceremony would always be remembered as a fractured, informal crowning of a resisted and controversial new King. The memory of Murtagh and Thorn, the two individuals who had never judged her by her heritage, were left alone and half-dead in a vast swath of barren sand to which their fate was highly uncertain. And finally, the odds at which she still found herself with Eragon felt both deserved for her dishonesty but cruel for her intentions had always been nothing but his own. Or perhaps it was truly only the immense responsibility that had been placed on her shoulders by the new ruler of the Varden, who had assigned to her the task of training the thousands of men that now stood before her expectantly the ways of the King (the true inspiration unbeknownst to the soldiers).

To be a leader was something Lenora had never known. To be placed in a position of authority had never been a possibility while she had lived in Urû'baen, and since traveling with the group, each of them has been an equal in the constant struggle for survival. Gathering food and supplies, teaching and learning and the endless night-watch rounds were divided between each of them. As soon as she had taught Eragon a new technique, he would retort with new words in the ancient language that she would then be assigned to practice and learn as he too worked on his fighting. The brothers had hunted for their own meat to get by and as such, Roran (for Eragon still resisted both hunting and eating meat) was a more proficient hunter-stealthy in his methods and quick with the kill, whereas Lenora's accurate aim was all that she had with which to compare. Katrina's inner strength and willpower maintained everyone's sanity, particularly in times when the travel became especially monotonous in areas where the land appeared to stretch out before them forever and there was no apparent end in sight. The dragons each always reflected their riders' whims and personalities, but each offered wisdom none of them could hope to accumulate without centuries' worth of experience.

It felt as if the responsibility of winning the war had been placed upon her shoulders. Without her help, the Varden was lost. They had many willing and able men who wished to fight and defend their freedom from the tyranny of the King, but there were many more who fought for the Empire. The disparity in numbers was a disadvantage Nasuada hoped to overcome by training her men in the same arts as what Lenora had been taught in the first place. To fight the King's men with his own methods was their most tactful and final hope to win the war. In order to have any chance in standing their ground against the well-trained, merciless troops that faced them, they would have to employ the same methods and understand their opponents in a way that only someone from the Empire could offer them. That person was Lenora.

Nasuada's cleverness was never lacking. She knew the harsh realities presented to her by engaging in war with the Empire once again, but refused to be satisfied with the situation as it currently stood. As leader of the Varden, and daughter of Ajihad, Nasuada had made a pact to her people that she would never cease fighting for the peace that was promised with Galbatorix's defeat. So when the opportunity was so clearly offered to her in a green-scaled and blood-soaked package, she leapt at the chance. Lenora had been assigned the task to train the soldiers that were to fight in the impending war to give them the best advantage available.

Many of the men that stood before Lenora had already served in the previous two wars, and some, in battles before that. They knew what it was like to face death square in the face and live to tell the tale. But many men had sacrificed their lives, their final moments of unwavering loyalty to the resistance forever remembered in the minds of those who fought beside them. Great leaders had died to protect the freedom that the Varden offered their people, and these losses would become a part of history and an inspiration for the rest of the courageous fighters who would help to bring the country back to peace.

However, Lenora had never known peace. The closest she had come to encountering anything but turmoil had been during her young childhood, a time that had been forgotten, for to remember such a time drove her to brink of insanity. Her mother had been the only one who had ever shown her anything akin to love, and as such, her personality and communication with others was limited to the decency she had learned during her time away from the castle and with Murtagh. Now, Lenora had thousands of eyes cast upon her, expecting her to teach them the secrets of fighting and warfare that would no doubt lead them to success and overthrowing Galbatorix.

But alongside their weighty expectations, she could feel their doubt. The "warrior" that stood before them appeared nothing more than a young woman, normally a symbol of grace and elegance, broken and hobbling about as if age had already taken its toll. The only women these men had known to fight battles was Nasuada or the god-like elves that were so mysteriously absent in their time of need. These men were looking for a leader who was strong and resilient, experienced and knowledgeable of the warfare that they too had witnessed. As a Shur'tugal, her status commanded respect, but disappointment still flickered in their eyes.

_Are you sure that you do not want me to join you in your discourse? Perhaps a dragon's presence will hold some standing, _Eridor suggested in her head.

_Thank you, my dear Eridor, _Lenora replied, grateful for the unwavering loyalty of which she had never known before. _But this is something I must face by myself. I must hold my own against the fray._

_As you wish, young one. But I shall stand by your side when the battle becomes true._

_And I would expect nothing less of my big emerald monster, _Lenora remarked. Lenora took a deep breath to steady her nerves as the dragon's huff of reply faded from her mind.

"I realize all of you have come here for a great purpose. To protect your homes, your families, your friends and your freedom is a most serious responsibility that each of you is imposed to bear," she announced. "Unfortunately, we live not in a time of peace when we may enjoy our lives without the burdens of these tasks and fill our days with carefree pleasures as we pursue a prosperous future. Nay, instead we live in a time of war and unrest. We must bear the hardships that we have already known and will soon known again. To fail would be a grave loss to not only yourselves, but to everyone who stands around you. Each and every one of you is counting on the other to acknowledge the importance of the task that has been assigned to you and to protect you as you would protect them. Yet as these become realities, you will come to know how much your participation will be valued in times to come. You will be the men to begin the revolution. The Empire is a force that must be erased from the land forever, and you, the ones who represent the Varden and the light, are the ones who will lead Alagaësia into a new era. An era of peace will soon be known for you and generations to come." A question remained unaddressed.

"Despite, or perhaps because of my appearance, I have known these responsibilities myself. It has not been without great hardship that I have come to stand here and address all of you today. I may not have fought in the battles that many of you have known, but I too am a supporter of the resistance and a foe of the Empire. The scars I bear, like yours, have been a result of a long and unfinished history of fighting against the scum that Alagaësia must bear until we can finally and forever banish it from the land that used to be free for us to enjoy. We are together in our objectives and I wish to be able to teach all of you what I know so that we will have a chance to restore our land back to what it once was."

Now to invite the onslaught. "I know that as dutiful and law-abiding citizens of the Varden, you do not speak against Lady Nasuada's decision to assign me to your teachings, but I, Lenora, Rider of Eridor, wish to hear your concerns."

A middle-aged man spoke first, the hostility only masked by tone. "What have you to teach us for which we have not already received instruction or experienced on the battlefield? Even our boys have seen more warfare than their fathers before them. Jörmundur's teachings have served us well in battles before. What need do we have for a new, less-practiced mentor?" The question was one that she could not answer completely, for to do so would once again, reopen the Pandora's Box of her lineage and loyalties that, for now, the Varden was better-off not knowing.

"Aye, your concerns run deep into the minds of many of you. While I can attest to the fact that Jörmundur is a most-qualified warrior as is seen in the abilities of his guards, my methods are of a different feel. Given extensive observation and illicit knowledge that would have me locked up in the best prisons of the Empire, I can offer you something that Jörmundur cannot. But I cannot instill these principles into you until you trust me as your leader into a war that will only be won with support. Eridor and I are as loyal to the cause as your own Blue Rider." Some of the faces began to compose. "However, while I will command the post of teaching swordsmanship and empty-hand combat, Jörmundur will continue teaching archery and other weapons' fighting. Groups will be rotated between sessions daily."

This time, a young man not much older than herself spoke up. "How are you to teach us all that you propose with an injury such as that?" This was the next expected query.

"This wound is a testament to the precautions one should take in a fight and the consequences that result should such measures not be taken," she said solemnly. "Sloppy or distracted fighting should be avoided at all costs. I was fortunate to have only received this, for I-or any of you-could lose your life in an instant if you are careless. Let it be a lesson to those who may have found themselves in a situation in which careful perception would have prevented a mistake. With dedication and perseverance, each and every one of you can learn, re-learn and succeed in the teachings I aim to offer you in hopes that we can be the future of our land."

After the many questions had been answered to a satisfactory degree, the day began and the teachings ensued.

_Well-done, _Eridor chimed in. _Who took you to be the inspirational type?_

_

* * *

_

Many hours and frustrations later, Lenora dragged herself into Nasuada's office. She passed by the leader's guards, under instructions of their Lady to not be continuously bothered by unnecessary requests to see her important advisors, but their countenance changed upon seeing the face of the rider. They could sense an argument brewing. Lenora shoved open the door as if it had done some misfortune to her and stomped-a sight not so imposing with a limp-up to the desk, at which Nasuada sat. Jörmundur tensed at her side, he too sensing an impending storm. Angela straightened from her position, having been bent over an intricate map that she had been explaining to Nasuada, and a curious looking cat that Lenora had not seen before gazed at her as if he could see her soul, a strange gleam in his eye.

"I cannot even begin to express to you how impossible it is to teach nearly twelve-thousand men sword-fighting with only three-thousand weapons!" She exclaimed, oblivious to the looks of surprise that surrounded her. "All day, we have been rotating swords between men, breaking off into groups, of which half of the men appear to have skulls as thick as the helmets they wear and there have been who-knows-how-many injuries in the span of a day. Tell me, Nasuada, are we planning on fighting a war with imaginary weapons and the hope that Galbatorix will do the same? Because I can guarantee he will use every advantage he can employ to not only defeat the Varden, but destroy it entirely and there will be nothing left but blood-stains and a broken vision."

The room was quiet for a long minute after her tirade. The jab was callous and insensitive, and directed toward not only a leader but the person who had taken in the misunderstood rider, the speech was tactless. However, having been informed of the rider's ways, Nasuada expected nothing less and didn't lose a beat. She gave Lenora a moment to compose herself and take in the surroundings. Most would come to the realization that they had crossed a line, and might feel ashamed of their actions in the eyes of those who looked on. But, as she was learning, Lenora was not one of those people and Nasuada was compelled to reply without receiving an apology.

"I can understand your dilemma, Lenora, but there are other elements that you have failed to grasp," she said pointedly. She had the rider's attention now at least. "As a result of our retreat into Farthen Dûr and the influence of the Empire, we are forced to use only the resources we have within the mountain. This has created a recession of unforeseen proportions with which we are contending in whatever manner we may. Our blacksmiths are currently working at maximum efficiency to generate the weaponry and armor that will be necessary for our troops. We are using all the supplies available to prepare for the war and we will continue to do so until we step onto the battlefield. For now, we must all make use of the assets we are fortunate enough to have at the moment and become resourceful if we wish to stand our ground.

"We are all feeling the hard times, Lenora, but no one feels them more than I. While my people prepare to defend their freedom, I am the one who is promising them that outcome. While I rely on my advisors for valuable information without which we would be lost, the final decisions come down to me and the fate of the Varden rests on my shoulders. We all wish to express our frustrations, but we are all relying on each other to remain steadfast as we approach the war for without connections and support, we would collapse. Your outburst is recognized, Lenora, but it will not be tolerated again. It is not your responsibility to oversee the weapons manufacturing and as such, it should not be your concern. Your priority and your only concerns should be training the troops and your continued lessons with Eragon. You made the decision to join the Varden when you infiltrated Farthen Dûr and pledged yourself to our cause. Now I suggest you begin accepting what you signed up for."

Lenora didn't know what to say. For perhaps the first time in her life, she was humbled. No one had so thoroughly disregarded her every point and done so with such grace and performance. To her surprise, her anger dissipated and was replaced by respect. Despite the grim truth, Nasuada's retort impressed her and gave her renewed faith that they stood a fighting chance against the King under her leadership. She had been unaware of her own bluntness until it was shot back at her. Upon noticing the realization that finally hit the Green Rider, the Lady continued.

"Like everyone else who is preparing for the war, you too will be expected to complete your duties as assigned and refrain from such immature and disrespectful demonstrations. You may be a dragon rider, but within this mountain you are just another piece of the puzzle. You may retire for the day, but you are expected at the training fields tomorrow afternoon after your own training. Once you have completed your work for the day, I wish to see you here again for there is much to discuss once you are of a better mind."

Without another word, Lenora bowed and left the room, a smile on her face. There was hope yet. A fluffy orange tail disappeared from view as the door shut behind the rider.

* * *

The corridors were confusing and hard to remember. The quarters she had been assigned were based on her dragon's size, but the normal housing they would enjoy had been temporarily cordoned off due to Isidar Mithrim's still fragile and fractured state. As such, she and Eragon were forced to live together in an old dining area, with grand double doors large enough to accommodate the dragon's bulk, temporarily filled with two large and crude dragon beds and cots for the riders. Having shared the makeshift quarters with Saphira and the sullen and silent Eragon for the past day was beginning to wear on Lenora and she did not rush to return. Given an evening off, she was expecting to spend some time on her own, giving her thoughts the time they deserved. But it was not to be.

_Going anywhere in particular, Lenora? _The voice was unfamiliar, and mental communication was not common. She whirled around to see the cat from Nasuada's office, sitting on the stone floors watching her again. Though a strange sight to behold, the cat was not her immediate concern and she scanned the hallways for others but saw none.

_Who are you?_ she demanded of the disembodied voice. The intrusion was unnerving.

_One who is only…curious of your ways and your path ahead. _Curious-like the cat. She looked again at the feline._ But you may call me Solembum._

_You? _she asked doubtfully, feeling foolish to be talking to a cat. The large tail flicked appreciatively.

_Ah, but you are quick, _he remarked. She remained skeptical. At her confused look, he explained. _A werecat has the ability to communicate with his mind, as well as a normal child, when he feels the transformation may benefit him._ Ignoring for the moment that she was conversing with an animal of which she had never known existed, her own curiosity got the best of her.

_How do you know my name?_ she asked.

_I have my sources, _Solembum replied, sauntering toward the rider. _But what I'd like to know is who gave you that name?_

Her eyes narrowed and she stood straighter. _Of what importance is my name to a cat?_

_Testy are we? _he asked, his tail curling into a question mark. _Perhaps it would help to know that the Blue Rider has wisely heeded my counsel and that there have been many before your high-and-mighty self who too have profited from the wisdom of a lowly werecat's words?_

_Eragon may choose to listen to whatever suggestion crosses his path, but I am not the Blue Rider and you are not the one with which I wish to discuss my personal life._

_So be it, _he said with another flick on his tail and turning down the way she had come. _But to leave without informing you of the one thing that could turn the tables on the war would be tragic._

Now she was interested. _And what would that be? _she challenged._ That Eragon is an idiot? _He turned his head and looked her square in the eyes.

_Nay, though the same could be said for yourself, _he retorted. _That you have something to hide. A damning secret that you feel is a curse. But you fail to recognize that the answer lies in that from which you wish to be liberated._

_

* * *

_

Eridor's presence was a welcome relief as she walked into their room. Eragon's absence was almost more so. _What a day, _she said, collapsing onto the cot in exhaustion. Curled up on his bed, Eridor placed his head next to her cot, his eye level with hers.

__

What is it, little one?

he asked.

_Let's just say that single-handedly training the entire resistance is a little more than I was bargaining for._

_And you expected something less as the third dragon rider? _he said. She opened her eyes and glared at him.

_Not you too, _she groaned, turning her back to him. _Everyone has been informing me of my duties and what I should know. _She felt his snout gently poke her back and snuffle her hair.

_I am sorry, heart, _he said earnestly. The best part about being bonded to a dragon was being able to understand each other and communicate in a way that was impossible for any other who was not Shur'tugal to understand. _I would love to hear about your day, but it seems there is someone else who wishes to speak with you now. _She opened her eyes and looked up. Eragon stood in the doorway, his arms folded but a smile on his face. His face was surprisingly upbeat for the way he had acted toward her previously.

"I was hoping we could talk," he said, as he entered the room. "But it appears I'm interrupting a dragon-rider moment."

_Nay, _Eridor said to Lenora's dismay. _I need to stretch my wings before we eat anyway. I think I'll invite Saphira for an evening flight. I believe we have some things to sort out as well._

_Don't leave me here with that curmudgeon! _she pleaded.

_Relax, _he said, rising and walking toward the double doors, brushing her arm comfortingly with his tail as he left. _He already arranged it with me. _His reply surprised her. She had come to the conclusion that Eragon would neither talk, nor trust either of them again and had been begrudgingly sharing their quarters without saying a word to anyone but Saphira.

Eragon sat down on his cot opposite her. She waited for him to begin. "I believe there have been some misunderstandings between us that need to be resolved."

"That would be a fair statement," she replied unenthusiastically.

"First, it would be helpful if I knew the whole story," he said calmly. "As it stands, no one even knew that Galbatorix had any children. Are you an only child?"

"Are you conducting this interview as Nasuada's messenger or because you actually give a damn?"

"I'm asking because I care," he replied. "I know the person that I traveled with for those many weeks to be a good person at heart, but misguided. Now I know too that she was misunderstood and I understand that your holding back was for the good of everyone," Eragon said as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, now interested in engaging as his intentions were not argumentative. "I would like to understand your plight and in return, you may ask what you like from me and I will offer you the answers that I am able," he said, smirking to himself for a moment. "Except this time, there won't be swords involved."

Lenora couldn't help but smile at the comment, recalling their first real conversation to include the clashing of blades and wit. "Alright, but this time you will remain calm, I presume?"

"I will if you will. No use in getting into another tussle," he replied. "If that's what these conversations are always reduced to, we won't get very far before one of us decapitates the other and well, there wouldn't be much conversation after that point."

Lenora ran a hand over her face. The memories were never pleasant to recollect. But after a few minutes of talking, she realized that their pasts were not too different from one another and it became easier. Each of them had been forced into a life of war, pain, loss and responsibilities. Their journeys had been different, but in the end, they were in the same place with many of the same burdens.

Once the necessities were out of the way, Eragon seemed unsatisfied.

"I know what you'd like to ask, but it would be better if we could avoid that topic," Lenora advised. She knew one day he would ask, once he knew where she had come from.

"But he's my brother. You have known him longer than I have, and have participated in a great many more memories with him than I ever hoped to be able to. I know he represents the Empire and fights for Galbatorix, but I have to know the truth. There was something in his eyes, a glimmer of emotion that should not have been able to surface under the circumstances when he attacked you in the desert. That must mean that there is still some of my brother left in that empty vessel."

Lenora heaved a sigh. The conversation that she dreaded. The conversation that she was hoping to avoid at all costs. The conversation that could be what divided them in the end. "Murtagh," she began, "is not the monster that you think he is, and I don't say that from simply having spent more time with him than you have. I know because he puts up that front so that you will hate him." Eragon's face contorted in confusion, unable to comprehend why his brother would want Eragon to despise him. "Everything that Murtagh does is to protect you."

"After what he did at the Burning Plains?" he asked incredulously. "That's a stretch, Lenora."

"He wishes for you to forget the memories you once shared with him. He does not want you to try to free him because to do so would mean certain death. He wishes to love you as the little brother that you are, the brother that he never had, but he would rather see you live than watch you die trying to free him."

"Free him? He seemed all too eager to murder Hrothgar and nearly myself and Saphira, as well as countless numbers of the Varden's men."

"It seems cruel, but he wanted to ensure your safety. My revealing all of this to you is breaking the trust that he placed in me, but I knew I couldn't put it off forever." Eragon seemed plagued by the news. Lenora knew it would take a while before he would be able to comprehend what had been said, but one thing needed to be established. "The last thing he would want you to do is to now go after him in hopes to free him from Galbatorix's grasp. I lived within the castle and the Empire for the majority of my life and I can guarantee you that it would be a suicide mission. Murtagh would not be saved and you would not be spared. My father is as cruel as they come. He knows nothing of mercy, love or emotion other than hatred. It has been his method for many years."

"Do you think he's still alive?" he asked.

She paused. "I know he is. I can feel it. If he had passed, we would know."

After a few moments' silence, Eragon changed the subject. "So you are planning to teach the Varden's troops what your father taught you, effectively pinning the Empire against their own fighting methods and allowing us the chance to overtake Galbatorix?"

"That was my plan from the beginning," she said. "Nasuada only made it official, however futile it seems to be."

"Times of war are never prosperous, but what all of us needs in these times is to take heart. Each of us has work to do, and each of us can make a difference in the outcome of the war if we believe in our cause."

"Then maybe you should come train the troops with me. You might have a modicum of success," she said.

"Well, I do have good looks and charm, unlike yourself," he said, as Lenora's pillow hit him square in the face. "Guess I deserved that. Better than your fist. Okay, after some long-overdue training tomorrow morning, I will come to the training fields with you and we'll see where I can get your useless, pathetic soldiers."

"It seems Saphira has a wonderful effect on your personality," she remarked.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to Yreva13, Crimson Solitude of the Moon, Shadowstreak, TimesWillChange, ., lulu and Adayuki for the reviews, and all the rest for reading. As long as you've read this far, please leave a review-any constructive criticism is appreciated.**

**~Emerald Dragon Rider**


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